


Blue Bliss

by SDAWND



Series: Blue Bliss [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bedroom Sex, Bondage (barely qualifies), Cussing, F/M, Impala Sex, Kitchen Sex, Men of Letters Bunker, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sex, Shower Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Trust me there is a lot of sex along with a compelling story, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 76,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SDAWND/pseuds/SDAWND
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You used to have a normal life, until you ran into that damn stranger. Now all you know is life and death, angels and demons, and Sam and Dean Winchester. Meh, normal is overrated anyways.</p><p>This is not a Mary Sue story! This is my first fic ever and it's 2nd Person writing meaning this story is about you, the reader. My goal is to take you on a sultry jaunt through the Supernatural universe with cannon characters and give you a unique experience with the Winchester brothers (complete). Part Two of the story, called Twisted Paths, includes Crowley (complete) and Castiel (pending).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I also have this posted on LiveJournal if you prefer that format.  
**[BLUE BLISS](http://sdawnd.livejournal.com/1796.html)**

 I have no beta so all errors are my own.

_PART ONE OF THE SEQUEL  
TWISTED PATHS: IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING  
_ _IS OFFICIALLY POSTED!_

__  
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  
This story is about YOU, written under the assumption that you have female anatomy. If you do not identify with female anatomy then I'm sure you can find a way to adjust your mind to imagine I'm talking about someone else.  
Trust me, it's fun either way. 

 

 

 **SO IT BEGINS  
** <<< >>>

You’re in a hurry. It’s long past sunset and the street lamps and security lighting from nearby parking lots are the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. Your pace is brisk, bordering on a trot as you round the corner of a familiar building where you run smack into an unfamiliar situation. Distracted by your cell phone, you aren’t paying attention, so you unexpectedly hit the shadowy figure in your path full force. Your peripheral vision only catches a glimpse of a second person leaning against the wall as you push forward into the stranger, your brain registers him as a naked man with fountains of blood pouring from his gaping neck. You barely notice because you and the shadowy figure are headed straight for the ground, limbs tangled and your hand clutching their jacket with a death grip. Time is relative and like a movie, the clock seems to slow to a crawl, seconds turning into minutes. Details burn forever into memory: the naked body sliding down the wall next to you, blood gargling through his last breath; the stranger you are entwined with growling out an expletive; a smoky red glimmer flashing where his eyes should be; a strange sense of dread coating your very soul and the crippling fear that follows. You watch as he (at least you think it’s a man) reacts to the fall by shoving his hand into your body instead of instinctively trying to twist to avoid harm. It appears his goal is to keep you from falling on top of him. Unfortunately the person seems to forget that he is holding something, a little vial with a glowing blue substance inside. As his hand shoves upward, countering your inertia, the breath is knocked from your body. The bottle shatters against you and the hand grinds it in with brutal force. Your eyes widen in pain and then your expression turns to terrified surprise as you suddenly see his other hand wielding a long strangely shaped silver knife. You know without having to witness that it’s the instrument he used to slice a bloody smile across the naked mans neck and you know with certainty that you’re next. Realization hits home that he wasn't pushing you away; he was lining you up for the kill. You tense, anticipating the unknown pain of a stab wound that will precede the pain of hitting the ground, but a burst of searing blue light explodes outward, your chest the epicenter of the event. Time freezes. The man in front of you lights up for an instant, his features sharp and distinct, and then he disintegrates with a wail of pain. His eerie red eyes the last thing to disappear into ash. Time restarts. The pavement rushes to meet your body and you slam down heavily, scattering the ashy remains as the knife clinks down harmlessly nearby. You struggle to refill your lungs, your body burning from the impact, eyes watering from the pain. Just before you lose consciousness you see two figures running towards you and your very last thought before everything goes black is “I don’t understand.”

<<< >>>

 You wake up in what can only be described as a prison cell that’s trying to look cozy. Dim light illuminates the room and the first thing you see is the door; closed, thick, and intimidating. The walls are concrete, cold and unfriendly despite the cheery antique pictures hanging on them. You know that you are underground; there is a stifling, oppressive feeling of weight above your head, causing a vague sense of claustrophobia as you stare at the rough ceiling. The bed is firm, almost to firm. It’s neatly made with a plain gray bedspread and you were apparently left here atop the covers in hopes that you would eventually regain consciousness. You moan in pain while moving to a sitting position, every joint and muscle aching. Your head swims for a moment, adjusting to its new upright state. Once things come back into focus you take in the remainder of the surroundings. Next to the bed is a small wooden table with a retro style lamp. There is a chair in one corner that looks like it should be in your grandmother’s house, high-backed with bold upholstery. A stack of what looks like clean clothes occupies the grandma chair. That’s when you realize you are filthy, and your belongings are nowhere in sight. Your fingers brush against the light crust of ash caked on your face and you survey your wrecked clothes. Your eyes scan the room again and you notice there is a little door to your left, but you can tell immediately that it is little more than a closet with a toilet, sink, and mirror nestled inside. Your hopes for a shower dwindle. You begin to wonder how you got here when there is a loud clank as the door is unlatched.

Having no idea where you are and who is going to walk through that door you panic and flop yourself back down on the bed and play dead, well, you play unconscious at least. The anticipation is murder. You think the door will creak ominous and frightening; something straight out of a horror movie, but it glides open on silent hinges. The only reason you know it opened is due to the shift of the air and rustle of movement at the doorway. You try to remain calm. Try to keep the facade of peaceful unconsciousness. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be. You hear a murmur of voices. Male voices. Two to be precise. Both deep and smooth. "See. She's still out cold... or dead. Sigh. I hope she isn't dead. It’ll be a lot harder to figure out what happened if she went and kicked the bucket Sammy."

"Shhh Dean. Geez." You can almost feel the eye roll from here, the annoyance in his voice palpable. You feel someone enter the room and it takes every ounce of self-control to remain still and not tense up as someone gently sits on the edge of the bed and lays a warm hand on your shoulder. Your plan was to slowly pretend to wake up and hope that looking like a nice innocent girl would win you points in the 'please don't kill me' department, but things don't always go as planned. The proximity of this man’s body and the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin suddenly ignites your brain. Desire flares up, hot and heady and if you weren't so on edge it might have caught you off guard enough that you would have done something rash. Like sit up and kiss him! You haven't even seen his face yet! Your eyes fly open and before you can fully think through your actions you've crawled, a sputtering mess of an action, to the headboard away from him and you curl into a ball hugging your knees. Where did that thought come from? You've heard of Stockholm syndrome but you haven't even met your captors, much less had time to fall in love with them. You find yourself more terrified of yourself than the men occupying your makeshift prison.

"Hey. Hey. We won't hurt you. We are here to help. We found you in that alley and we brought you back here to keep you safe, ok?" He sounds sincere... and nice. Not at all like a kidnapper should sound. That's when you decide to look. Your head has been buried in your arms, clinging to that childish notion that if you don't see them, they can't hurt you. You lift your head and peer through the loose tangles of your wrecked hair. As you do, the man stands, arms up as a gesture of a nonthreatening and weaponless state, and he steps back to give you room. You start at his feet and slowly move your eyes up, and up, and up. He is impossibly tall, all lean muscle and long limbs. Then up to his face. Oh! That face. He is handsome with a strong chiseled jaw, long brown hair that flows down to his broad shoulders; and his features are etched with concern and caution. Then there are his eyes. Oh! Those eyes. They pin you in place. For a moment the world dissolves and there is only you and those eyes. It's happening again, that strange flare of craving out of nowhere. Desire pools deep in your belly and your heart rate picks up speed. You see it in him too, a mirror of your own reaction etched with the same hunger and confusion.

*cough*

Suddenly reality crashes back in and you both realize that you have been staring at each other for who knows how long. The other man shoots a look at the tall one and shifts his weight, body language of discomfort and impatience. Apparently that was his ‘I’m uncomfortable’ cough. The tall man you’ve been staring at runs his hand down his face and then through his long hair like he is trying to wipe away a dream and he clears his throat in embarrassment. "Uh yeah, sorry. Um, hi. I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean."

Sam. Kind of a short name for such a tall man but it suits him; and then there is Dean. You quietly return the “hi”, give your name out of lack of anything else to say and then you look at the one called Dean.  Shorter than Sam but still a tall man, Dean is a wildly strange combination of rough and tumble bouncer mixed with a Calvin Kline model. His face is gorgeous despite the fact that his lips are drawn tight in what looks like either concern or annoyance; you can't quite decipher which. His short-cropped hair looks unkempt, yet perfectly styled. His clothes are disheveled; a plain t-shirt, jacket, and ripped jeans, yet they perfectly compliment his slightly bowlegged bravado stance. He is the walking incarnation of contradiction, rough and beautiful, and it makes him incredibly fascinating and hard to look away from. His gaze shifts to you and that feeling comes back full force, heady and alluring. First the man called Sam, and now this guy; what is going on? His emerald eyes mesmerize you with returned desire as his face freezes in a deer-in-the-headlights look of stupefaction. He quickly looks down at the floor, breaking eye contact (thank God), and he nervously shifts his weight again, then he speaks. "Well, hi. Nice to meet ya and I'm glad that demon didn't kill you."

"Dean." Sam's voice is flat as he shoots him a look, noting the uncomprehending surprise on your face as you repeat the word ”demon” with a definite question mark at the end. Sam breathes out a weary sigh, "Listen. It's a long story and we all have a lot of questions but I have a feeling all you really want right now is a shower. Just trust us, ok? You are safe here and nothing that you saw last night can get in this place, so let me give you the short tour and you can get cleaned up. Then we can all do twenty questions." His honest sincerity is so hard to argue against. His face is like a puppy’s, with those huge heart-melting eyes, and his voice etched with soothing concern. You can't help but trust him even if you can't seem to shake that strange undertone of infatuation that keeps pulling at you.

You agree, because you really really do want a shower, and Sam's stance shifts to one of relief. He smiles at you, warm and genuine. With an awkward hitch, he scoops up the clothes that were on the chair and gestures for you to follow him. Dean only moves out of the way just enough for you both to pass and then he follows close behind as Sam leads the way down the hall. Around a couple of corners he stops at a wide open doorframe and he introduces you to the galley. Dean slides past, his hand accidentally brushing against your fingers. Your breath catches in your throat and your heart-rate skyrockets, eyes going wide with surprise at the electric heat from that small touch. You notice a falter in his step; a subtle hesitation, but Dean keeps on moving and doesn't turn around to face either of you as he gruffly starts rummaging around the kitchen. "I'll get some grub started; you better get her to the showers. Bet she cleans up nice." Dean seems nervous; his refusal to turn around while speaking is a screaming sign.

You ponder this observation as Sam beckons you onward down a different hallway. You barely know this Dean guy, but he just seems to be the smooth type. Well... smooth when he wants to be. You can tell he is definitely rough around the edges and that he won't be shy about speaking his mind but that means he is the direct approach kind of guy when it comes to ladies, the dial up the charming smile and give the smooth "how you doin'" Joey-from-Friends kind of hello, not the type to get nervous around girls, much less a stranger like you. But you did just meet him so maybe you’re wrong.

Then there is you. What is up with you? Regardless of the way you've handled men in the past, it has never been like this. You've never wanted to jump a man’s bones just because he put his hand on you. Maybe this is some sort of PTSD side effect from last night’s trauma. Last night! Your current distractions have muted the big fucking deal that was last night. What the hell happened!? Naked men with their throats slit. Terrifying red eyed men who turn to dust. “Demon” is what Dean said. Nothing has made sense ever since you rounded that dark corner last night. 

"Here we are. The showers." Your train of thought wrecks into a wall as Sam's voice pulls you into the now. You blink at him and then look around at what resembles a gym locker room. You must seem concerned because Sam gives you a reassuring look as he adds, "Don't worry. I’ll be back in about 45 minutes to get you so you won't get lost. I went and picked up some random lady stuff; deodorant, hairspray, hairbrush, a new toothbrush, stuff like that. It's all on the bench over there for you. Hopefully I didn't miss something important." He plops the pile of clothes down on that same bench and steps back. His stance is reminiscent of a high school boy wanting reassurance of a job well done; head bowed, hands stuffed nervously in his pockets. It's adorable. You tell him that it's more than you could have hoped for and after a thank you, he beams at you like he just won first prize. You smile back and feel it again, that heavy pull towards him. He must feel it too because his eyes widen and his nervous level maxes out. He breaks eye contact and starts striding down the hallway, taking full advantage of those long legs as he dismisses you with "Enjoy the endless hot water and I'll be back in a bit". Like his brother, Sam seems to be off his game as well. He doesn't seem like the lady-killer Dean is, but you can tell he has been around the block and shouldn't have any trouble talking to women. You shrug it off, chalking it up to just another layer of weird on this crazy cake.

<<< >>>

The bags have a bounty of products, all purchased from the Gas-n-Sip down the street from the look of the bag. You pick out what you want, strip out of your filthy clothes and head for the shower. It’s a huge open area; a large column stands in the middle with multiple showerheads sprouting out in intervals around it with corresponding hot and cold handles below each. You eenie-meenie them in order to pick one and the steam begins to fill the room immediately when the water starts flowing. You didn’t realize how dirty you felt until you step beneath the falling water. The warmth seems to wash away the world and all the crazy that you have been dealing with, cleansing you to the core. The steam blocks out your surroundings and you lose yourself. You take a lot longer than you normally would but you can’t help it, it feels so normal compared to everything else that has happened. A towel was hiding under the pile of clothes and you take your time drying off. The clothes turn out to be a pair of warn cargo pants that are a bit baggy and a t-shirt that fits ok, both obviously men’s clothing. Dean’s you assume and they are pretty comfy. You are just finishing up your hair when there is a gentle knock on the wall near the door followed by the clearing of a throat. You turn to find Sam watching you sheepishly with hands jammed in his pants pockets like before. You flash him a bright smile, feeling much more cordial after such a lovely shower. He grins back, tips his head towards the hall, and asks, “Ready for some lunch?” You nod, still smiling and you follow him down the hall, your steps lighter and with more pep than before.

When you walk into the galley Dean is humming what sounds like Enter Sandman as he unceremoniously shoves three plates full of food onto the table. “Hey?” Dean catches the room’s attention and lifts a bottle of water in one hand and a beer in the other. Sam says water and you parrot him. Dean shrugs, “Suit yourself.” He pulls another water from the fridge and sets them on the table. Sam sits and gestures for you to take a seat across from him. Dean wipes his hands on a towel and then sits down next to Sam, grabbing the beer and twisting the top off with automatic motions, done so many times it’s like breathing. “I don’t know what you like so I made what I like” Dean is gruff but not in a mean way. You smile, reassuring him that it looks great, and the food does look surprisingly tasty.

Grilled chicken breast with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayo between some sort of artisan bread. A pile of chips, mesquite BBQ you think, take up the rest of the plate. Dean grunts, his way of acknowledging your comment and then he takes a huge bite of sandwich. You almost giggle at the way his cheeks chipmunk from the huge bite, but you catch yourself and pop a chip in your mouth instead. Sam shifts in his chair and then follows his brother’s lead by taking a bite of his sandwich. Not wanting to be rude, coupled with the fact that you are truly hungry, you join the club and take a bite. It’s amazing. Your eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. Sam notices and pipes up, “I know right? Shocked the hell out of me too but the boy can cook.”

“Shut up Sammy.” Dean elbows him. They are definitely brothers. “So lady, now’s a great time to spill on what happened last night.”

“Dean.” Sam flashes him a bitch face.

“What? I’ve waited about all I’m willing to wait. I’m even feeding her for crying out loud! The least she can do is tell us what we want to know.” It’s like you aren’t even in the room as Dean argues his point. Sam stares at him for a minute and then looks at you, expectant. You take it as your cue to spill the beans. You tell your story, trying not to ramble. Barely into it and Sam stops you. “Wait? Naked? And throat slit.” You nod and after no further questions or statements, you continue. Explaining the part about the blue light is the hardest. You find yourself getting personal with it and likening it to a spiritual experience because as you recount the tale, you find yourself connecting emotions to the events. Sam nods as you describe it, leaning forward, enraptured by your story. Dean continues to chew, a somewhat bored expression on his face, never really contributing. Sam is more helpful though. He lets you finish your story, ending with the man turning to ash and how you passed out right after. “I think I know why you consider it a spiritual experience.” You can see Sam’s wheels turning, thoughts clicking into place and he turns to Dean as he states, “I bet it was grace.” 

Dean laughs when you ask -who is Grace? "Grace isn't a who, it's a what. You stumbled right into the middle of some heavy shit girl. The naked guy was an angel; a Cupid from the sound of it, and the guy that turned to dust was a demon. Sam thinks that demon had a bottle full of grace, angel mojo, hence your ‘spiritual moment’. And by the way; yes, those things really do exist. Angels. Demons. Monsters. You name it." You were right; Dean is very straightforward. You wonder how that translates in the bedroom, probably hot and hard and no time to breathe. Wait? What? Why are you thinking of THAT when you were just told that what you saw was a demon murdering the crap out of an angel? You try to brush those first thoughts away and focus on the important one, the murder one. So you ask another question, something along the lines of -what the fuck? That’s when you notice that Dean is staring at you, his look unreadable, but you have an idea, because you feel it too. That unsolicited magnetism. You tear your eyes away from him and take a giant bite of sandwich, trying to divert your attention from the feeling. Luckily Sam helps by trying to empathize. "It's a lot to swallow, I know."

"Heh. That's what she said." Dean cracks up at his own joke, hiding his gorgeous grin behind his sandwich as he chuckles through another bite of chicken. Sam gives him the bitch face again and sighs, resigned to having to claim Dean as a brother. You know the situation is serious but you can't help but chuckle lightly, although you try to stifle it for Sam's sake. Your eyes lock with Dean's for a moment and he gives you a wink and half a grin, his mouth still full of food. Holy shit that was hot! Suddenly you are blushing like an adolescent school girl! Your eyes dip down to the table, your body on fire with pent up desire, and then you look to Sam, hoping he will save you from this situation. He does. He clears his throat, you note he does that a lot, and continues.

"Pretty much anything you can think of that goes bump in the night is real, and Dean and I, we're... we're Hunters. We track these things down and we... um, take care of it. Witches, ghosts, demons, all of ‘em. This place,” he gestures around generally, “is kind of our base. It’s warded against most every monster we know of which is why we brought you here. We needed to keep you safe." Your eyes grow wide at that little speech. You look from one to the other and it's like you are seeing them again for the first time. These two men, these brothers, go around killing monsters and you bet dollars to donuts that they keep it pretty damn secret. This means they trust you enough to tell you, which is nice, but it also means that you did indeed stumble into some deep shit. Deep shit where monsters are real, the boogey man isn’t just a made up thing and demons and angels are legit shit. You can’t help but believe them. Sam’s sincerity and Dean’s nonchalant honesty builds a solid case that if nothing else it’s very real for them. But it’s real for you too. You did see a man turn to ashes in front of your own two eyes. You are speechless, covering for it by taking another bite of sandwich and hoping they don't notice your manic chewing.

The boys have finished their food and Sam stands, puts his hand on your shoulder, and squeezes gently. You stop chewing, your eyes growing even wider, if that’s even possible. Mixed in with all the other crap your brain is trying to process, that freaky attraction comes roaring back. It feels like your blood has ignited, spreading a warm arousing feeling through your entire body, all emanating from where his hand touches you. His voice starts out normal and reassuring "Look. We are going to leave you alone for a bit." His voice suddenly lowers and he leans in. It's unnecessary but you don't mind. It feels good as he draws closer and then Sam purrs, "Do you remember where your room is? Head out this door, turn right, left, and then right and you will find it." He pauses, his face pulled into almost a strain, like he is wrestling against a current that is pulling on him. He seems to realize what he just did and is trying to level out his voice "Get some rest and take some time to process. We can talk about this later." Then you feel him pull away. Not just his hand leaving your body, but like a fish pulling hard on a line, you feel him fight whatever it is that is drawing you together. It's etched all over his face. He feels it too; exactly what you are feeling. Before either of you do something stupid, Dean swoops in, oblivious to either of your struggles. After tossing the plates in the sink, he grabs Sam as he passes by, hauling him out the door and flashing you a quick smile before rounding the corner with his now confused brother. You are alone and you are ok with that because you have so many thoughts to think.

<<<  >>>

You finish lunch, put your plate in the sink and find your way back to your room where you ponder, a lot. You leave the door open, alleviating the cramped feeling and trying to stave off the prison vibe. You sprawl across the tidy bed and stare at the unfriendly ceiling. You hash out whether or not to believe these two men and finally conclude that yes, yes you can trust them. As batshit crazy as it all seems, they are telling the truth. Two crazy brothers who kill monsters and no one even knows about it. Then your mind starts to wander and you begin to focus on them individually. Sam. He has the quiet gentleness of a predatory cat. It’s like he walks around with his claws carefully tucked behind padded paws, but when necessary you just know he is capable of great violence. You aren’t sure how you know; perhaps it’s his eyes. They seem so much older than the rest of him, like he has lived more lives than just this one. Beneath all of that is something deeper though; he truly is a gentle giant. He doesn’t like conflict and you feel that if given a chance he would walk stoically into the sunset and disappear into a quiet slice of normal. You find yourself feeling sad for him, which also makes you curious as to how you can discern all of that from just having lunch with him. Mmm lunch. Man, it was delicious. Dean really can cook. Hmm Dean. Now there is an enigma. He should be easy to figure out. At first glance he is rough and angry, straightforward, takes what he wants when he wants it, is great with the ladies, and loves the distractions of life like alcohol and good entertainment. But there is something buried inside him. All of those things truly are his core personality but something deep within him is broken, you can feel it. Again with the eyes. His eyes are haunted. He hides it well behind anger, boredom, or that sexy smile, but it’s there. A shadow of pain, regret, and terror tucked away deep where most will never see it. Yet you saw it. Why is that? You aren’t oblivious to people but you don’t normally peg them so hard and precise after such a short time. It strikes you as very strange.

You are pulled from your thoughts by a knock on the door. Dean is leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face and a bag in his hand, your bag. You sit up as he pushes off the wall and saunters into the room. "Hope I'm not interrupting, you seem kinda unhappy." He plops the bag on the bed behind you and sits down right next to you. His proximity is electrifying and you wonder if he feels it too. Dean stares at the floor with his elbows resting on his legs, hands clasped between them as his knee resides a millimeter from yours. All he does is stare for a time, the moment heavy with silence and you have no idea why but you want to hug him; you don’t though, you wait. Then he speaks to the floor, not meeting your gaze. "We've given that speech so many times and every time I watch as eyes are opened to the horrors out there. I wish we didn't have to tell you, tell you that monsters are real, but honestly we don't know what kind of danger you are in." He pauses. "Your cell phone is in there", gesturing blindly at your bag. "I charged it for you. Make sure you call whoever and let them know, you know, that you're ok."

Holy shit! With all the crazy, you’ve completely forgotten about the outside world. Yeah, calling people is now very high on your priority list but you can’t fully panic because you are currently fighting the urge to touch Dean. The longer he sits there, the stronger the urge gets. He looks up at you and continues, locking his eyes with yours to drive home his point. "Make up whatever you need to but don't tell them where you are or what happened. Trust me when I say it's safer that way. Ignorance is bliss." He looks away, dragging his hand over his face as he sighs, concern playing across his features and then he asks, "You ok?" and your eyes meet again. God! It slams into you like a truck, that crazy attraction. You mumble a half-hearted affirmation, or you think you do. You aren't sure because reality is dissolving and you are getting lost in those emerald orbs staring back at you. Then it happens. Dean's face is up against yours before you can blink, so fast you couldn't have reacted if you wanted to. His lips press warm against yours. It feels so right, so perfect. Like two magnets snapping together, finally where they have always wanted to be. Dean's hand snakes up into your hair and pulls you in deep as he tilts his head and presses in harder. Your lips part as he persistently pries them open. You don’t even pretend to resist; it feels too glorious. His tongue slides between your lips and you melt into him, your mouth now his to explore. Your hands come to life and one runs up his leg, then they are both on his sides, then wrapped around him, pulling him into you. You quiver with the feel of his warmth against you. It's transcendent. You've never experienced a kiss like this one and your brain doesn't have the power to wonder if you ever will again. Forever you are both consumed; lost in the feel of each other, the sensuality making you feel whole, yet making you crave so much more. Then just as quickly it ends.

Dean's cell phone rings and it shatters the moment, bringing you both crashing back hard into reality. You pull away, putting your fingers to your lips, eyes wide in surprise. "Son of a bitch," Dean growls as he digs out his cell and checks the screen. He looks at you as it rings in his hand "I. Um. Sorry. I gotta take this." A string of emotions play across his face all at once as you remain there staring at him, eyes wide, motionless as a statue. He breaks eye contact and launches himself to a standing position in frustration. It continues to ring almost to the point of voice mail. "Damn it" Dean looks at you one more time and his eyes linger, a note of regret. Then he heads for the door hitting the talk button as he walks. "This better be real fucking important" his voice angry gravel into the receiver. "Yeah well, the world doesn't revolve around you, ever think of that? Yeah I'm listenin..." His voice fades out of range, as you remain frozen in place. What. The. Hell. Was that!? You flop back on the bed, aware enough not to land on your bag, and you close your eyes. You can still taste him. Hell, you can still smell him on your skin. Forest? Wood? Nature? You can't place it but it is wild and heady mixed with beer and a hint of bacon still lingering from cooking lunch. Your brain is whirring, your body still buzzing. That was the best fucking kiss of your life! You lay there for a very long time thinking, reveling, lost, and eventually you drift off, exhausted after the adrenaline has drained away, your brain needing a break from complete sensory overload.

<<< >>>

You have no idea how long you nap and it doesn’t really matter. You roll out of bed and walk around for a minute to stir your blood and shake off the cobwebs of sleep. After peeking into the hallway for no reason in particular you head back to the bed, grab your bag, and start rifling through your stuff. Everything is there but you somehow knew they wouldn’t have taken anything anyways; they just aren’t like that. After inventory is complete you snatch your cell phone from the bed and start the arduous process of checking messages and notifications. You are smart enough to sit and think up a plausible story before making the calls and texts that need to be made but it still takes a while before you finally unceremoniously drop your cell on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Well that’s done. Now what? You decide to play a game or two on your phone for a bit, hoping that Dean will come back to finish what he started or that Sam will come keep you company. Neither shows and you get bored after a while so you decide to take matters into your own hands and explore. You want to find the shower room by yourself. You mostly remember how to get there and even though it’s a bit of a maze you find it without too much trouble. The place is empty and all of the stuff is still strewn across the bench where you left it; everything except your dirty clothes. Your brain goes pervy for a minute, wondering which brother took them and why, but then you shrug it off and you convince yourself that it’s no big deal that your clothes are missing. You scoop up all the stuff you want to take back to the little hole in the wall bathroom inside your room and you wander back the way you came, this time finding your way easily. You take your time arranging all the stuff you brought back, not because you are meticulous, only because you aren’t sure what to do otherwise. You put your cell phone on the table by the bed, your bag on the chair nearby, and set your new toothbrush in the new little plastic cup on the sink next to the new tube of toothpaste. Well that was boring, so you decide to explore again. They didn’t say you couldn’t and you aren’t a prisoner, or at least not in the normal sense. You are pretty sure they don’t want you to leave until they give you the ok but that doesn’t mean you have to be stuck in this room the whole time.

Finding the galley sounds like a good idea so you head that direction, remembering easily, mainly because Sam’s sultry voice gave you directions and you can’t help but replay them in your mind. It’s kinda weird and wrong that both of these guys are so hot for you. That thought isn’t a self-esteem thing; it’s just because of how hard all three of you seem to want it. You remember Dean’s kiss and blush at the thought. That memory will eventually fade to a nice sepia colored snippet over time but you will never forget how right and how powerful it was. You revel in that for a moment, closing your eyes as you walk down the long straight hallway. It should have been a safe thing to do since it was a straight line but you weren’t expecting Sam to come rolling out of the galley. Your bodies collide, a mash of face to chest, limbs flailing awkwardly to catch yourself and each other.

“Woah. Woah. Sorry. Aw man, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Both of Sam’s hands are on your shoulders as he looks down at you with concern. All thoughts of Dean scatter with the collision and are now replaced with Sam touching you. Your brain is struggling to catch up so all you can do is just shake your head no, too stunned to wonder what kind of stupid look is on your face. Sam sighs in relief but you watch him tense as he pulls his hands away and steps back. He is such a gentleman, is the only coherent thought at the moment. He runs his hand through his hair, nervously you think, “I. Uh. I was just coming to get you. I’ve started working on dinner and I thought maybe you could use some company. I sure could. I was going to see if you wanted to hang out in here with me.” He thumbs in the direction of the galley doorway. With a broad smile you tell him that sounds good to you. “Great. Uh. Then… after you.” He does this cute spastic hint of a bow. You swear that he’s all nerves around you, and somehow you know that it’s not exactly normal for him. You smile to yourself, reveling in that thought as you move into the room and occupy the exact spot you did at lunch. It faces the prep area and stove.

Sam strolls past you and heads for the fridge. “Water?” When you agree he tosses it to you and cracks one open for himself. The room smells like rice and fresh cut vegetables. Turns out he is fixing a Chinese style steak stir-fry with rice on the side. You offer to help but he insists that your company is all he requires. You take no offense, men get a little controlling over certain things sometimes, and you don’t mind at all because it’s nice to watch him work. He is oddly domestic as he putters around. You ask where Dean is. “Oh. He had to go out and take care of something. I would love to say he is working on a lead with your case but something else came up. He should be back tomorrow sometime.” For a moment you are disappointed that Dean is gone but it’s quickly washed away when you go back to watching Sam. You assume the “something else” involves some other kind of monster so you strike up a conversation by asking about the elephant in the room. You ask about monsters. You aren’t sure if he will talk about it, but he just looks at you and says, “Whattya want to know?” Which one to ask first, you have a thousand questions, but you pick one at random and ask. He answers it with no hesitation and without reservation. It’s fascinating to hear him talk. You ask question after question. He tells you story after story; so many monsters, so much that you never thought possible is being revealed to you by this tall beautiful creature sharing the same room. The conversation lasts long after dinner is complete. Dean isn’t the only one who can cook. Sam has equal skill because dinner was delicious. You help him wash the dishes and put things away, at least he allowed you to help with that so you didn’t feel useless, and he gives you the slightly longer tour of the place.

The tour ends abruptly when he shows you a posh little study stuffed with books and cozy furniture. You stretch out on the settee and he folds himself into a cushioned high-back chair. It’s so comfortable in here and you settle in and continue chatting. The subject matter eventually moves away from the dark and scary and into a bit more normal things. You find it very easy to talk to each other and before you know it it’s late into the night. Not that you can tell because there are no windows in this whole damn place, but the grandfather clock in the room has been maintained and the hands say almost midnight. You both kind of lose the ability to keep up conversation until it’s eventually just comfortable silence. That’s when you declare that you’ve had one hell of a day and should get some sleep. “Yeah, I think that’s putting it mildly.” He smiles at you as he stands and stretches, his long arms tightening up over his head. His shirt goes up with his arms and you catch a glimpse of well-toned abs. That pull never has gone away, the entire evening it has been an undertone. Like a low hum in the background, tormenting you. Watching his body tense and stretch cranks the low hum up to a dull roar. He is so fucking beautiful. He even stretches like a cat. You wonder what it would feel like for him to purr in your ear while he explored you with those padded paws of his. He breaks his stretch with a gentle grunt and you break your stare at the same time wondering if he caught you admiring him. Sam strides over and offers you a hand. You don’t need it and he knows it, he is just being a gentleman, again. You like that about him. You take his hand and stand up. The proximity and his touch are severe; your body hums and the pull towards him becomes stronger. It’s like he is the center of the earth, a gravity well, pulling you in and it’s so hard to fight against. He smiles and looks at you; there is a glint of… something in his eyes. Desire? “I’ll walk you to your room. Wouldn’t want you to wander around lost all night long.” You don’t argue and you follow him out the door. It’s a silent trip, not uncomfortable, just quiet. You are grateful because all of your concentration is going into controlling yourself and you wonder if he is doing the same thing.

<<< >>>

There you are, finally at the door to your little room and you don’t want him to leave. You just stand there in the doorway facing him, staring at his feet. You suddenly realize he is barefoot. Why didn’t you notice that before and why is it so incredibly hot to think that he has been padding around comfortably barefoot in this archaic place. Your body is vibrating as you try and control your emotions but that one little distraction left you vulnerable. You find yourself saying something about enjoying the ‘kinda’ date and that it was nice. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them and you blush and stare harder at his feet. You notice his body tense at the sound of your voice and you can feel his eyes boring into the top of your head. When he speaks it starts out strained “Ha. If you want to call hanging out here hiding from monsters a date…” his voice changes at the word date, it softens, “then you’re welcome.” There is a pause and then he purrs, right in your ear. “You have definitely made this evening a pleasure.” That last word brushes air against your cheek and you realize that he has stepped closer and his face is right next to yours. When did that happen? Sam’s hand comes up and he cups your chin with his fingers, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Holy shit, you are on fire! You can barely focus on his eyes, he is so close, and it doesn’t matter because you snap. You can’t take it anymore and you know the only reason he hasn’t done anything is because he is trying so hard to be a gentleman. You lean forward and press your lips against his, your eyes close, and a moan sounds softly in your throat. It’s just like with Dean, yet so very different. There is that same feeling of a connection complete, like two magnets finally snapping together just like with Dean but Sam has a different tone. Dean dove in with both feet, but Sam, Sam seems shy. So you take a page from the Dean playbook and you slide your hand up Sam’s neck and thread your fingers into his hair. You pull him into you as you gently pry his mouth open. Your tongue slides between his lips you feel him melt, just like you did with Dean. Then you stop thinking of Dean because Sam comes alive.

His apprehension melts away and he curls around you, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing you back, deep and passionate. He steps you into the room, his mouth never leaving yours as he turns and sits on the bed, pulling you in tight between his legs. How considerate of him to try and correct the height difference, always the gentleman, you note to yourself. You like this new position, it gives you more control and you press in hard and wanting, your tongue continually tangling with his. His hands slide up your back where they curl around your shoulders and then they slide down till they firmly grip your ass. Your own hands aren’t roaming; they are too busy digging into his scalp, pulling him into your mouth with unmatched fervor. Sam’s hands slide from your ass, up your sides, and then he has one breast in each hand, gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing. You tip your head back and moan at the pleasure his hands are causing. He takes the opening to slide your shirt up and you feel like you are losing control of your body, like it has a mind of its own and you are just sitting back and enjoying the ride. Your arms go over your head, shirt following right after and then he is kissing the valley between your breasts as your fingers work to unfasten the bra that is in his way. Sam leans back and strips his own shirt up and off as you rid yourself of the bra. It feels so empty without him touching you. With matching passion you press together again, his tongue claiming your mouth as bare skin presses, breasts to chest. In a fluid motion Sam comes off the bed, twists you both, and sets you down in his place. His mouth slides to your cheek and then down to your neck as he slowly lays you back on the bed. His lips are like feathers across your skin and you feel his hands working on the button to your cargo pants. Somewhere a little piece of you is going ‘woah girl, slow the roll’ but it’s so weak and remote that it’s barely noticeable. The rest of you is screaming ‘YES’ on the inside. Everything about this feels so right, so necessary. You don’t have an ounce of shame in you right now. You don’t even feel self conscious as his kisses move down with the pull of your cargo pants. As he pulls down, you move up so that all of you is now resting on the bed. His lips leave your body long enough to rid you of all remaining clothing and he works with swift precision, maximizing every movement so that he is back on you in no time. He still has his jeans on but you are sure he feels the same emptiness when you are apart and that he needed to be back on you NOW.

The planes of Sam’s chest slide up your body as he kisses his way back up to where you are moaning softly. Hovering over you, his hair falling in curtains around his chiseled features, he looks into your eyes as he brushes his fingers along your hairline. “You are so beautiful” His words set every nerve alight as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours again and curling his fingers up into your hair. He licks his way into your mouth and claims a deep moan from you as he presses his crotch against yours. It’s such a tease because his jeans are coarse and unfriendly, but you can feel the firm bulge being constrained beneath the fabric. You slide your hands down and he lifts so that you can unfasten the fly. You hook your thumbs at his hips and pull them down, boxers and all. With just a little awkward wiggling he gets his jeans off and kicks them onto the floor. He presses his entire naked body down on you and it’s a whole other feeling. It’s exquisite and his flesh feels like warm silk against yours. Sam releases your lips so he can slide down and mouth at your breasts. His breath is hot against your skin and he moans as he plays, licks, and nibbles. You moan too, your fingers tucked in his hair, your head tipped back. Then he is back inside your mouth, fervent as one hand slides down your side, hip, leg, and then up again until his fingers brush against your sex.

Your breath catches and your eyes fly open. You see him watching you, eyes lidded, as he slowly slides a finger up inside. You quiver and your hands grip his back, nails pressing lightly into his skin. Sam gives you a wickedly crooked smile as he pulls out and then slides two fingers deep inside of you. He watches as you react to the stimulus. Watching this man watching you is so surreal and delicious and it is all bringing you close to a climax. He continues to slide two fingers into your slick hole as he pulls another long kiss from you. You are gasping when Sam pulls his lips away, your body shuddering with pleasure as you tumble over the edge, your orgasm overwhelming you. You ride his fingers as his powerful hand slides them in and out in a hard rhythm and you see him smiling and biting his lip when your eyes aren’t rolled back in reverie. For a long moment you are suspended in a cloud of pure bliss and then you start to come back down from the high, but your body is still buzzing, craving more and that is what you tell him; you tell him you want more. You want all of him.

Your words have a definite effect on Sam because he thrusts his tongue between your lips and slides his fingers out so he can press all of his weight down on you. His body envelops yours and his cock grinds against your clit as he ravages your mouth. Its like Sam can’t get close enough to you and you can’t get enough of him. His breath ghosts against your skin as he rests his head on the bed, his lips brushing your ear as he concentrates on lining up. You feel the tip of Sam’s cock, and then you feel all of it, every hot inch as it glides inside. Your back arches up into him and your nails big into his well-toned back. “Oh fuck” Sam whispers into your neck as his body goes rigid. The connection is monumental and you both lay still, gripping each other tight, unmoving for a time. Then he starts to move, slowly. Out and then in, out and in, out, in, out, in. Every inward slide is resplendent. With each muted grunt from Sam, every fiber of your being erupts with bliss. His body coils and then straightens with each drive and you lose yourself in the sensations of him inside and against you. Sam begins to pick up speed and your fingers glide along the muscles in his arms and down his back, reveling in the firm lines of his form as the pleasure increases. He moans your name into your neck and then dips his tongue between your lips once again while continuing his unrelenting pace. Heat is pooling deep within you, you feel it intensifying with each thrust of his hips. Sam feels so pure and perfect inside you, unequaled. You feel his desire building as his body contracts into straining muscles and he moans between your lips.

In a burst of intensity Sam propels himself into a frenzy of hard, deep thrusts. Your climax hits with blinding ferocity as he is slamming into you, uncontrolled lust taking over as he reaches the pinnacle. You ride it with cries of extreme pleasure as Sam growls out hot breathy pants; then he shoves in one last time and stays there, gripping the bed where he is holding himself up and he moans your name, long and strained. Then he gently collapses down on top of you and kisses you deeply, your breath coming in shallow gasps between each kiss. Finally the kisses fade and Sam slides off, lies on his back and sucks in a deep breath, still working on steadying his own breathing. You curl up beside him, content and completely spent. Sam wraps an arm around you, kisses the top of your head and then settles in. That’s how you both fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

<<< >>>

You wake up alone. The clock on your lock screen says it’s a decent hour to be awake but also not shamefully late either. The sheets still smell like Sam and you breathe them in deep as you take a moment to relive last night. That was crazy. You just met the guy. You decide immediately to stop saying that to yourself as an argument because, to be honest, you wanted to fuck him the moment he sat down next to you on the bed, sight unseen. Well wish granted. Deed done. Now what. You can’t help but wonder if this will make things awkward, especially since you seem to have the same inclination towards Dean. What’s done is done and you wouldn’t take it back for the world because regardless of how vanilla last night was, it was still the best sex you’ve ever had. Climaxes are a rare commodity among women in general and he got you twice without even trying. You aren’t sure whether it’s mad skills or if it’s just something about him that gets you all hot and bothered, probably both. First times aren’t normally that awesome. It’s usually awkward and ends up disappointing for someone involved, but last night was none of that. Not even close. You both got your jollies in spades. Regardless of what you think you like in a sex partner, Sam was everything you needed and it was amazing.

 You realize that you are hugging the pillow that still holds his scent and decide it’s a great time to get out of bed and think of other things. You go to bathroom, brush your teeth, and smirk at your sex/sleep mussed hair in the mirror. When done, you come out and notice there are clothes and a fresh set of sheets on the chair. A little note rests on top. “I washed these for you yesterday. Thought you might want clean clothes for today. -Sam.” So it was Sam who took your messy clothes, he even laundered them, and he even got you clean sheets, forever the gentleman you muse. Hmmm, although that does mean he was handling your panties, maybe he isn’t so gentlemanly after all. You can’t help but smile at that. A memory from last night floats to the surface of your mind, of bits of clothing lying strewn all over the floor (gone now, you don’t know where), Sam’s body pressed warm and smooth against yours, the softness of his lips and you still remember how he tasted. Desire begins to pool deep inside. You try to shake the thoughts away; it’s too early for that kind of crap right now. With the stack of clean sheets on the chair you decide to wrap yourself in last night’s bed sheet so you don’t walk naked to the shower room. You scoop up your clothes and find a towel included, holy crap he doesn’t miss a thing does he, and you head down the hall to the showers.

 The hallway and the shower room are as empty as a tomb. It’s a little creepy but you try to reassure yourself that Sam is around here somewhere and that this place is warded against the boogey men you just discovered are real. The shower helps clear your mind as you wash away the scent of Sam, leaving fresh soap as the only fragrance to inhale. It’s like the fog of desire has been thinned out a bit and you can focus on more than just sexy Sam. You chuckle at that descriptor as you towel off and dress in your original clothes. You feel a bit more feminine now that you have on your skirt and top. It’s nothing fancy but they fit the way they are supposed to and compliment your body nicely, unlike Dean’s loaners. Once you have your hair taken care of, you leave the sheet and towel behind as you decide it’s time to see if the galley has anything for breakfast.

 Deserted halls again, but you turn into the kitchen and find Sam sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal as he reads the local paper. Your eyes meet and he swallows his bite of cereal as you both just stare for a moment. That damn attraction is back full force. You don’t know why you thought it would lessen after last night’s shenanigans but you thought it would take the edge off if nothing else. Nope. Not even a little bit. At least it doesn’t seem to be any worse either, so there is that little ray of sunshine you think wryly to yourself. Sam greets you cordially, “good morning. I see you found your clothes where I left them. I’m glad.” You try to be nonchalant and joke about how it’s not exactly a cluttered room but make sure to add a hearty thank you in with it. He gives you a small smile “just doing what I can to help since I know all of this is a bit strange”. You smile back and inquire about breakfast. Sam unfolds himself from the table, strides over and plucks a bowl from inside a cabinet and then opens the door of another one. He places a spoon in the bowl and then with another little smile he says, “Pick your poison and milk is in the fridge.” He sits down and goes back to his cereal. Well. Hmmm. This isn’t to awkward… except that he is acting like last night never happened… or is he? You don’t know. How should he be acting? Were you expecting him to swoop you up with a kiss and a “hello darling, did you rest well?” Some small part of you was apparently hoping for that but the rest of you knows that’s just plain silly. Well he doesn’t appear to have regret or hatred regarding last night so you just shrug it off and consider the situation a win as you head over to the cabinet. You have four choices; some kind of healthy bran flakes, Frooty Lootys, Corporal Crunch’s Peanut Butter Blast, or Bunch o Honey Bits. Somehow you just know that Sam is the only one who eats the bran flakes. You grab the Corporal Crunch and pour a hefty bowl, followed by just the right amount of milk, and you plop down across from Sam in your usual spot. You dig in. Amazing sex gives a person one healthy appetite you realize. You eat without shame as Sam finishes up his bowl of bran.

 Sam sets the paper down and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. You pry your eyes from your bowl of Crunch where you’ve been staring, afraid to make eye contact for some unknown reason. Sam’s eyebrows are all bunched up and there is trepidation in his eyes as they lock with yours, “We’ve gotta talk about last night.” You don’t like the way he says any of that sentence but you don’t have time to react because Dean comes strolling into the room and says, “why? What happened last night?” Sam’s expression flips to ‘oh shit’ and then he forces himself into a poker face. “Oh. Uh. Hey Dean. Just get back?” Dean heads for the cabinet where he grabs a bowl and spoon, “Yup. It was a quickie. And now I’m starving.” He grabs the Frooty Lootys and fills the bowl to the brim. He pours on the milk and as he’s kicking the fridge door shut he asks, “So man, what happened last night? Something try to get in or something?” He sits down, spoons a big bite into his mouth and then looks at Sam with one eyebrow raised as he chews.

 “What? No. No, nothing like that.” Sam pauses and you hold your breath, wondering what he will say next. “I. We. We did a lot of talking last night and I answered a lot of questions she had about monsters. I just wanted to make sure she’s ok and that I didn’t freak her out to much with the stories I told her.” You let out your breath with relief, and then shove a spoonful of cereal in your cakehole as quickly as you can.

 “Geez Sammy. Telling her ghost stories before bed. Real smart.” He turns to you. “Hope he didn’t screw with you to bad.” Dean winks and smiles as your eyes meet and your brain hits the brakes and goes full stop. To many emotions just occurred; lust for Sam, memory of said lustful happenings with Sam, the pull towards him still palpable followed by deep salacious thoughts of Dean, the pull towards him just as strong. You don’t know which way to go. You don’t know what to think. What was the question again?

 You have no idea what look is on your face when you utter an inarticulate –huh? Dean notices that you are having some sort of moment so he plunges his spoon into his cereal, leans towards you just a bit and says “Sammy? Did he go and scare the pants off you last night?” Sam chokes on his orange juice. Dean’s wording is killing you both and he has no clue. Dean gives his brother an incredulous look as Sam wipes the orange juice from his chin, and then he turns back to you. Your eyes feel like they are bugging out of your head as you manage to shake your head no and mutter something about it being ok, its information you had asked for. Dean seems satisfied with your answer. “Heh. Well if you say your ok then, ok. But be careful what you ask for. Sam and I have seen some things you don’t ever want to know existed. Remember what I said, ignorance is bliss.” You remember that. Perfectly. You also perfectly remember how he kissed you hot and hard right after that. Oh crap. You have got to get out of this room soon or your brain is going to melt. You mindlessly take another bite of cereal.

 Sam gives Dean an annoyed look “I’m not stupid Dean. I didn’t tell her anything I didn’t think she could handle.” He scoops up his bowl and heads for the sink. Dean follows him with his eyes and then grabs the paper, “uh huh. Sure. So. Anything hinky in the paper today?” Dean gives the local news a cursory scan as he takes another bite but you notice his eyes flick to you frequently.

 “Just the usual stuff, nothing outta the ordinary. We have other things to focus on anyways, like her case.” He gestures towards you. You’ve been scooping cereal in, not really tasting it, your mind a tumultuous mess.

 “Oh yeah, speaking of...” Dean drops the paper on the table, “got a call last night while I was out and I think I’ve got something.” Sam dries his hands from washing his dishes and looks at Dean expectantly as he tosses the towel on the counter. “Well it’s only a little something. More of a tiny hint of something. Ok. It may be nothing. But it’s still something.”

 “Dean.” Sam gives him a well-worn bitchface as he exhales sharply in annoyance.

 “Ok. Ok. I think that demon was collecting ingredients for a spell… maybe. But it’s kinda a really big maybe. I gotta make a couple of calls to verify some stuff and I need you to hit the books and see what kind of spells need grace.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and scowls. You take another bite of cereal.

 “Dean. The only spell I know of that uses grace is the one to lock all the angels out of heaven. If you’re right, then we’re talking about some seriously heavy shit. I’ll check the library but I honestly doubt there’s anything there about that kinda thing.” Dean grabs his empty bowl and heads for the sink. He stops and slaps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leaning in with a strained smile, “Atta boy Sammy. You just keep being positive.” Then Dean tosses his dishes in the sink, turns, and heads straight for you. He stops right next to where Sam was sitting earlier, hands on his hips, stance defensive. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. We got this. We eat monsters for breakfast.” It feels like a speech for himself more than you, and not a terribly reassuring one either considering the tightness in his voice. You just look up at him. His eyes are wide and kinda wild, like he is psyching himself up for the big game or something as he says, “Ok? Ok.” He nods, pretending you agree, slapping you on the back as he passes by on his way to the door. “Good talk guys. I’m hitting the showers.” You go back to staring straight ahead as you stuff your mouth with another bite of Corporal Crunch; your body stuck on autopilot. One little coherent thought makes its way across your brain, Dean is such a jock and damn sexy even when he’s being weird. Oh what a useful thought. You roll your eyes at yourself. Sam apparently sees you, and thinking it’s a reaction to Dean’s comment, his arms drop to his sides as he sighs and heads towards you. “Hey. We WILL figure this out and I’m sorry. Mighta been better for you not to hear that. I’ll be in the library if you need anything.” He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then leaves you alone to finish your cereal.

<<< >>>

Well none of that was reassuring but honestly you weren’t terribly focused on things either. Most of your thoughts were flipping between the remembered feel of Sam followed by the remembered taste of Dean on your lips. Why do they have to keep touching you? It just makes it so much worse. Every time they make contact it’s like an electric shock shooting straight to your nethers. Even that stupid back slap from Dean made you quiver with yearning. There was important shit said about stuff you should have paid attention too, but with both of them in the room you were lucky to remember to breathe. You finish your cereal; wash your dishes and Dean’s, and then head back to your room. You check your phone for messages, strip and make the bed, and then wonder what to do with yourself. You can’t help but think of Dean in the shower and you curse yourself for being such a perv when realize that you regret missing the chance to sneak down there and catch a peek. You’ve gotta get your mind off that crazy train before you do something ridiculous. Sam is in the library researching. Hmm. There’s an idea. You decide to help him out, especially since you’re involved in all of this. The least you can do is help when capable and four eyes are better than two when it comes to finding things. Besides reading will help keep you from your other, more salacious thoughts. That’s assuming Sam won’t drive you to distraction while you’re with him. That’s also assuming he doesn’t decide to bring up last night again. He didn’t seem upset about last night but you aren’t sure you are brave enough to talk about it regardless. You figure it’s worth the risk to go help; better than going nuts in this little unpadded room.

Remembering where the library is turns out to be pretty easy. At first glance this place looks like a labyrinth but it really isn’t that complicated. As you approach the shallow steps that lead up to the brightly lit library you hear the brothers talking. “Does anything seem weird to you Dean?” Sam’s voice is full of concerned confusion. You stop just out of sight, hold your breath, and listen.

“Weird how Sammy?” Dean’s tone turns slightly exasperated, “you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“I mean weird….” Sam sighs, “I don’t know. Do you feel kinda off your game, or strange, or… weird?”

You can almost picture Dean’s puzzled look as he replies in annoyance, “No Sammy. I don’t feel strange, off my game, or –weird-.” He tweaks his voice on that last word for effect. “If anything, I’ve never felt better. I am A-OK. Peachy. Hunky-dory. Totes Fine.”

You know Sam is raising his eyebrows when he responds with a puzzled, “Totes fine?”

“Yeah. I won’t be saying that ever again. I feel dirty now.” Dean grumbles, and you envision him trying to shake that off as he struggles to move past the awkward moment. Apparently he does what comes most natural; he deflects the attention onto his little brother. “Sam. I think it’s that girl.” His voice brightens with a little bit of matter-of-fact preach tossed in. “I think you like her just a little bit, and you, are being your usual stick in the ass stuffy self, and don’t plan on doing anything about it.” You can almost feel Dean poking his finger in the air at Sam with a haughty eyebrow raised just to emphasize his observation.

 “What!? No. No it’s not like that.” You hear the strain in Sam’s voice. You hear him shift in his chair. You know he’s lying through his teeth and you wonder if Dean can tell.

 Apparently Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or just wants to jab at his little brother because you here him stand up as he responds brightly, “Good. Then you won’t mind if I end up with that sweet slice of pie.” Oh shit! That was forward. You feel like this conversation needs to end abruptly so you pull another move from the Dean playbook and shoot forward, hopping up the steps lightly as you interrupt by asking –what about pie? You snicker inwardly as both boys jump and then shift uncomfortably, especially Dean.

 “Uh. I was just telling Sam that I’m tired of cooking so I’m gonna get takeout for our lunch, and there will definitely…” Dean pauses for emphasis “be pie.” Inside your mind you are giving Dean a standing ovation on his quick cover story. The Winchester brothers are both excellent at avoidance, lying, and denial. It seems pretty deeply ingrained in them and you figure it has to do with the life they lead. They pretty much have to lie to anyone they meet so it’s not surprising that for them it’s like breathing, second nature and so easy. You aren’t going to call them out on their conversation, that would end very badly, so you say that pie sounds great and then ask if you can help with the research, telling them your earlier thought of -the more eyes the merrier.

 Sam brightens, replying, “Sure. Sounds great. I appreciate the offer.” You and Dean both notice. Inwardly you brighten too, you’re glad he wants you around. Dean isn’t as thrilled with that little revelation though. His eyes narrow at Sam. He roughly grabs a book off the table, followed by plopping down in a chair and throwing his feet up onto the table.

 “Not a bad idea. The more eyes the merrier.” Dean parrots your words as he raises the book, and his eyebrows, in salute to you. Your stomach clenches a little bit because you realize this suddenly became a competition between these two and you are the grand prize. This will be interesting and almost certainly disastrous. Dean cracks open the book and starts skimming the pages. “Um. Sammy? What exactly should we be looking for?”

 “Well. Since you still have nothing…”

 “Hey.” Dean interjects. “I left voicemails.” He glares at Sam, obviously feeling like he lost points right there.

 “Yeah. Nothing.” Sam says flatly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to Dean. “So anything you can find about Cupids, Cupid’s Grace, or Angel’s Grace in general is a good place to start.” He turns to you, expression lighter, and he gestures to a set of shelves across the room from where he’s sitting. “If you want to start on the second shelf from the bottom over behind the armchair, any book on that shelf may have what we need.” You follow his eyes and note which shelf he means, nodding affirmation. He smiles gently at you and then his eyes lock onto his book and he goes back to reading. Dean’s face is fixed with concentration as he thumbs through the book in his hand. Before you move, you take a minute to survey the library.

 

It looks just as it did last night when Sam showed it to you. It’s a long narrow room with a high ceiling and large columns in intervals down each side. Each one breaks up the open space into homey little alcoves. Each alcove is stuffed neatly with books and antique trinkets. One has several wickedly curved swords; another has a nautical compass and measuring instruments, and so on. Running in a straight line from the entry stairs to the back of the room are three beautiful mahogany tables with matching chairs. Dean’s feet are resting on the middle table and Sam occupies the table closest to the entrance, books and papers scattered around him as he reads. Old Arts and Crafts style lamps decorate each table and large bright lights hang from above, giving the room more than enough light to read by. The back of the room has a large archway, the same style as the entry, but it’s merely an indent, leading to nowhere. Nestled in that little nook behind dark red curtains, is a huge telescope that lends to the impressive feel of the entire room. You can’t help but think how lucky they are to have found this place. You remember Sam telling you a little about how they found it. You were so happy when he got to that part. You suppose it’s because all the stories before that seemed to involve sketchy motel rooms or abandoned houses. These two never really had a home before and now they do. It’s beautiful because of that. You don’t even mind the oppressive underground feel of it anymore because it’s the home of Sam and Dean Winchester, the wandering brothers. Speaking of, they are both settled in and staring hard at those big books and you better start reading too.

 You quietly pad over to the alcove Sam pointed to, and down low on the second shelf from the floor is a mish-mash of books. All of them different shapes, sizes, and styles. You lean down, bending at the waist to read the names on their spines. You hear two chairs creak. Your spidey sense kicks in and you feel two pairs of eyes on your ass. Well that wasn’t what you wanted to happen... or was it? You’re face turns beet red and you freeze in place, not sure what to do. You find yourself growing warm deep down knowing that both of them are checking you out but it also kicks in your self-conscious side just a little bit. At least you’re wearing your clothes and not Dean’s, one of your favorite shirt/skirt combos, so you aren’t too squeamish because you know you look pretty good. This doesn’t mean you can handle that amount of attention, so you snag a large black tome with gold accents and stand up straight, trying to stay nonchalant. You hear them both shift as you slowly turn around. You wonder if they caught each other looking and smile inwardly at that amusing thought. You eyeball them both before you sink into the armchair, which happens to face their direction. They both seem to be deeply involved in reading but you can tell it’s an act; they are good liars but not this time. You open your book and smirk as you hide behind its pages. It’s exhilarating to know that both of these insanely handsome men have a thing for you. You share their wanting and the more you experience it, the less you feel like fighting it. Nothing has made any sense from the moment your world was turned upside down in that dark alley; your only option has been to just go with the flow, which has turned out to be a pretty good decision. Sam felt so perfect last night, and Dean’s kiss was a promise of so much more he could give, so why would a person fight that, especially when you don’t even feel a hint of guilt. You should feel terrible for playing both of them but the thing is; you aren’t really playing them at all. You are….. Hmmmm. You can’t explain it; it just seems to be beyond your grasp of comprehension no matter how long you chew on the thought.

 Time ticks by and you find that you haven’t been much help at all, you aren’t sure if you’ve even turned a single page in the big book you’ve been hiding behind. Your mind has been whirring with inappropriate thoughts and every time you glance at one brother or the other they meet your gaze, strengthening that ever-present pull and further fueling the raging bonfire building inside. At last Dean breaks the quiet by slamming his book shut and announcing, “ok boys and girls. I’m gonna grab the grub.” Sam jumps and gives him a bitchface. You find yourself smiling whenever Sam does that, it’s enjoyable to watch these two knuckleheads interact.

 “Alright Dean, I’ll keep at it. Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.” Sam is apparently the hardcore research type and isn’t fond of interruptions.

 “Psh. That door would be so lucky to hit this ass.” Dean jokes as he winks at you, “hey, you wanna come with? Or are you married to research like Mr. Stick-in-the-mud here?” You leap at the chance to remove yourself from this torture but you try not to appear too eager. Don’t want to give the wrong impression to either brother. “Sweet. I’m sure you want a bit of fresh air after being cooped up here and don’t worry, if we run into anything big, bad, and nasty out there, I’ve got ya.” His macho bravado is endearing despite the fact that it’s completely unnecessary. You chuckle a thanks as you set the book on the chair and start to follow him towards the door. You catch a glimpse of Sam rolling his eyes at Dean’s comment and you find it harder and harder to hold in your mirth, but you manage it.

<<< >>>

It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, or so says Dean. The doors are heavy and squeak loudly when opened or closed, the seats are well worn and it’s enormous inside to the point where you feel a little lost on the bench seat. You are thankful for the seatbelt because you feel that you’d slide around the expansive passenger side otherwise. Your left hand rests on the seat, your right props your chin on the door so you can watch the world pass by. Dean is headed to a nearby Bigerson’s but you don’t really care where the car is going because Dean is occupying the same space and that’s all that matters to you at the moment. AC/DC is playing quietly from the tape deck. You chuckle at the fact that Dean still uses tapes but then you stop to think about it for a minute and it almost depresses you. Those tapes probably have some deep sentimental value and Dean is the type to quietly cling to objects that bring good memories. You wonder how you know that and you wonder why you would bet good money that they belonged to his Dad. Sam didn’t talk much about their dad other than to say he raised them both and taught them everything he knew about hunting. You somehow know that Dean grips tightly to the good times any way he can and these old tapes, with their worn out tracks, bring him comfort. You want to hug him, just like when he sat on your bed the other day. It’s so odd to be around Dean. Your mind isn’t sure which way to process him. One part of you wants to hold him tight, tell him everything will be ok and then slowly make love to him until the world melts away to nothing. The other part wants to grab him by the collar and rape his mouth with your tongue while grinding against his firm body so you can watch him come alive with unleashed appetite. Either way your mind is completely focused on the singular thought of getting into Dean Winchester’s pants. Maybe this little trip wasn’t such a smart idea.

 “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You snap back into reality to find that you’ve been staring at him instead of out the window. Dean’s eyes flick to you and he flashes you one hell of a sexy grin, then he goes back to watching the road. You blush and mumble something about sorry, you were spacing. He chuckles “It’s alright girlie. I don’t mind. Better you staring at me than Sam. I hate it when he does that shit. Does it just too weird me out because what are brothers for, right?” His tone is light and he seems so relaxed behind the wheel of this roaring boat of a car. “To bad it’s raining. You finally get out of there and it’s craptastic weather.” You shrug, not really sure what to say because you haven’t really minded being in the bunker. “Eh. Well I’m glad for the company so thanks for that. Even if you don’t talk much.” He flashes you another smile. You smile back and then you talk. Dean wants to chat, so you gladly chat. Your conversation is easy and enjoyable and before you know it Dean is putting the car in park next to the Bigerson’s building.

 He doesn’t park in the front like most people do; he pulls in close along the side of the building, near the employee access door. You unbuckle your belt, wondering if it’s some sort of hunter strategy. That thought is abruptly stopped by Dean’s fingers threading up into your hair, and his lips pressing against yours. Oh. That’s why he parked here. This is unexpected, and nice. Then your mind stops thinking as you focus on the warmth of his mouth. Last time you were hesitant. Not this time. Your surprise wears off quickly and you immediately match his eagerness. He slides his body closer to you, in turn pulling you towards him till you’re together; bench seating has its merits. Your arms wrap around his neck as his hands slide up your back, pressing you in, breasts against his chest. Moans escape you both as you take turns attacking each other’s mouth. Hot breath, slippery lips, and animated tongues are the order of the moment and it’s so fucking mind-blowing. One of his hands moves up and begins to massage your breast. Dean finds your nipple through the layers of fabric and he pinches, then kneads your flesh again as you moan between his lips. His hands snake up under your shirt and are working on your bra strap when the employee door bursts open. You both jump, the moment shattered. Dean glares at the employee as he drags a big bag of trash to the nearby dumpster and then runs back inside, trying to avoid the rain. The guy didn’t even give you a glance but that doesn’t matter, what matters is the moment was broken. “Let’s go order lunch.” Dean is gruff but it’s not directed at you. He’s sexually frustrated and so are you. This sucks.

 The guttering along the building keeps you both from getting noticeably wet but it’s nice to step inside the brightly lit dry interior of Bigerson’s. The place is pretty empty, more employees than customers at the moment. You give your order at the takeout counter, followed by Dean ordering for himself and Sam. He insists on paying for it and you don’t argue because all your money is back at the bunker. The girl taking your order tells you it will be about 20 minutes; 20 minutes of torture as you stand there with your body on fire. Your nipple aches wonderfully where Dean pinched it and you can still taste him on your lips. Ugh. Torture. However, there’s enjoyment in the fact that Dean has been shifting uncomfortably since you left the car, attempting to conceal his boner.  You want so badly to help him with that little problem but fucking like rabbits in the middle of the Bigerson’s dining room is never an option. You both step away from the counter and Dean flashes you a look full of lust as he jerks his head towards the hallway with the bathroom sign. “Let’s hit the head before we go. Sound good?” His voice is low and full of promise. Your stomach clenches and your heart skips a beat at the idea you know he’s suggesting. You find yourself nodding a wordless yes. Fucking in a bathroom is not classy, but honestly, you could care less right now. All you want is Dean and the feeling of perfect connection that comes with touching him. You go first, since you’re closer, and you note as you head towards the hall that they are small single stall rooms with a door and a lock, not the typical multi stall bathrooms you often find with the swinging doors. You bet Dean knew that, the sly dog. Apparently you aren’t moving fast enough, because he crowds up behind you and after a quick glance over his shoulder, herds you into the men’s bathroom.

 As soon as the door is shut and locked Dean is all over you. You have no say in the matter as he pushes you up against the wall and presses his body against yours. You couldn’t protest if you had wanted to because your mouth is filled with his fervent tongue. It glides along your teeth, tangles with yours, and explores with urgency. You’re right there with him, matching his desperation with your own expedition. Dean’s hands slide up under your shirt and he doesn’t mess with your clasp, he just grabs your bra and wrenches it up so it bunches up with your shirt above your breasts, which are now exposed. He doesn’t feather kisses down your neck, there’s no time for that kind of shit right now. He just ducks down and envelops one breast and then the other with his hot mouth. His tongue runs circles around each nipple before he clamps down gently with his teeth, shooting molten rapture through your entire body. You arch your back into his kisses as your fingers thread through his short hair. You bite back your moans, keeping them muted out of fear that you might be heard.

 Dean straightens, his shirt scraping against your sensitive nipples as he pulls your head in to meet him. You both breathe in ragged uneven air between kisses and you are almost lost completely in the moment until a sudden urge to take control overpowers, and suddenly you attack. You push off from the tile and spin Dean around so that he is the one pressed against the wall. It’s your turn now. Your hands slide up and down his firmly toned chest as you claim his mouth with your tongue. Your fingers move down and find his fly. Before you unbutton his jeans your hand cups the bulge constrained behind his zipper. Dean lets out a low moan; his head lulls back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his pelvis, pushing himself into your hand. A little burst of fireworks explodes inside your head at the sight of him mingling with the feel of his hardened cock pushing against your palm. Oh god you want it. You want him.

 Your lips eagerly find his again as your fingers unzip his jeans, and you push both layers of fabric down, releasing him from that cotton prison. Your hand wraps around his fevered shaft as you slowly pull away from his mouth. You suckle his bottom lip, watching it snap back in place when you finally let go, your eyes locking with his. He is wrecked and so fucking gorgeous. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and his chest is heaving as his dick pulses in your grip. You bite your lip and give him a wicked grin and you see his eyes go wide as you sink to your knees. You don’t take your time and tease him; like before, there’s no time for that shit. With no warning you wrap your lips around Dean’s cock and slide it in deep. “Oh fuck.” Dean quietly explodes out a breath, his voice deep and heavy. You attack without mercy, wanting to hear him say that again. Your lips fervently work his shaft as your head bobs, sliding him in and then out, in and out, in. out. His hand grips your hair as his head tilts back against the wall, his ever-present bowlegged stance rigid with pleasure. “Oh god yes. You feel so fucking good down on your knees for me.” Dean’s voice is a hoarse whisper and it shoots straight to your core, churning that molten pool that continues to build. His words encourage you to keep going until you feel his legs begin to shake and then he grips your head with both hands, shifting so that you release him. He pulls you up off your knees and jams his tongue between your lips, kissing you hard and heavy in appreciation. Then he turns you both so that you are leaned against the countertop. It’s one of those decently built ones with cabinets underneath and a nice open space to one side, perfect for your ass. Dean’s hands run up your thighs and his fingers hook your panties and they are somewhere on the floor by the time he lifts you up onto the countertop, which is just the right height.

 Dean only stops kissing you for a moment, just long enough to line up and slide himself deep inside your wet sex. “Oh yeah. Oh fuck yeah. You feel amazing.” Dean apparently likes to dirty talk and you are one hundred percent ok with that. When his tongue isn’t dancing between your lips, he’s breathing sentences against your neck as he thrusts. “Do you like that? It feels fucking good doesn’t it?” You get lost in the rhythm, the words, the feel. Perfection. It feels like perfection. The molten pool that’s been building erupts and you bury your strangled moan into his neck as you’re hit with a mind-bending orgasm. You clutch at Dean’s jacket as he continues to shove himself deep into you with broken sentences and animalistic grunts. “Holy shit girl. Fuck yeah. Like that? Fuck.” You ride the feeling of euphoria for what feels like forever and then Dean’s body tenses and strains with a few final thrusts. His arms constrict you, crushing you against his rigid body; his teeth clamp down on your earlobe at the final thrust, a burst of aching pleasure courses through you, and Dean moans in your ear as you feel him pulse hot inside you. He stills, muscles still pulled tight, holding you firmly, and then he melts. His teeth release you, replaced by warm lips sliding from your lobe to your neck, then up your cheek. Dean’s muscles loosen as he licks at your mouth, a gentle thank you as his hands come to rest on your upper arms. He shifts his body away slightly and ever so slowly slides out of you. Dean’s lips release yours and he glides them across your cheek with a warm breath; then he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing deep.

 “Holy shit,” Dean exhales quietly. Holy shit is right but you don’t say a word, you just hold him while he holds you. In tandem he steps back and you slide off the counter onto your feet, his hands still on your arms and yours on his sides and neither one of you wants to let go. Your forehead rests against his chest as you try to steady your breathing, inhaling his scent as you do. Dean’s hand brushes through your hair as he steps back and says, “We better get outta here before someone notices.” You agree with him and then the moment is over and it’s all business. Dean hikes up his pants while you find your underwear on the floor and after refusing to put them back on (because eww, bathroom floor), you stuff them in Dean’s coat pocket. He is about to protest but then stops and just accepts it. Dean unlocks the door and opens it a crack to peek out. The coast is clear. Dean gives your ass a little smack as you quickly scoot over to the women’s bathroom. “Meet you at the car.” Sounds like a plan to you. It doesn’t take long to clean up and when you leave the bathroom you try to act normal. Now walking nonchalantly through the dining room, wearing no underwear, with Dean Winchester leaned against the counter watching as you pass by is not an easy task, but you make it out the door.

 You keep up the charade until you round the corner of the building and then you lean against the wall, close your eyes, and let out an explosive breath. The rain is still coming down pretty hard but the wind isn’t blowing and the guttering is protecting you. You stand there for a minute processing, reveling, reliving. Mother of all things holy! That was mind-blowing, and your knees are still weak from it. You push off from the brick and start for the Impala. Just as you are about to step into the rain towards the passenger door, someone grabs you. Your body is slammed back against the wall with brutal force and suddenly there is hot sour breath in your face as an arm begins to crush your neck. Solid black eyes bore into you from a face twisted in anger. “Finally found you, you little bitch.” The man spits the words at you as he presses his body in close, “now where is it? Did you give it to the Winchesters you little shit?” You’re speechless, eyes wide with surprise and terror. You watch as the man raises a knife to your cheek, its long curved edge resting against your skin.

 Suddenly you feel the blade slice a gash into your face as the man pushes harder into you, his mouth hanging open with a gargle of pain as a strange electrical pulse crackles from his eyes and throat. Then you see Dean, face twisted with primal rage and disgust as he rips a long bone-handled blade from the man’s back. Dean grabs the man by his collar and guides the now dead body to the ground. Blood drips from the knife in Dean’s hand as he stands in the rain breathing through his adrenaline; then he’s immediately invading your space. He runs a wet thumb along your cheek, concern etched across his waterlogged features, “you ok?” You don’t answer. You are just so happy to see Dean and happy that man (not a man, that monster) is not going to hurt you anymore. “Are you ok?” Dean’s voice is sharp, insistent, his concern turning to panic as he tries to lock eyes with you. His voice snaps you from the daze and your eyes finally focus on him. You nod an affirmation that you’re ok and gulp back an impending sob. Dean lets out an explosive breath of relief and gives you a once over, apparently not trusting your judgment. Then he orders you, “get in the car and don’t move.” Your eyes are still wide as you nod in agreement. Wordlessly you splash to the passenger side, get in, and slam the door shut. From the rearview mirror you watch Dean wipe off his wicked looking knife and tuck it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Your eyes stay locked on him as he grabs the dead man (no, the dead monster) up under his armpits and drags the body across the alley to the opposite side of the dumpster out of site, the rain running in a red trail behind him. Dean reappears and swaggers to the car, not seeming to care about the rain since he is already soaked to the bone. He stops by the employee access door for a moment and grabs several bags full of something. The door creaks loudly as he gets in and slams it hard. He drops the bags on the seat between you and stares out the window at the rain for a moment. “Fuck!” Dean slams his hands on the steering wheel, his outburst startling you. He looks at you; his face plagued with worry and a need for forgiveness as he reaches out a dripping arm and rests his hand on your cheek. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think… I’m sorry.” Your eyes soften as they gaze into his but you still can’t find any words to say. You press your cheek into his hand and it stings, the cut still bleeding, but you don’t care. You want him to know its ok and that’s the only way you can right now. That small gesture seems to relax him a bit. His fingers slide from your cheek and the Impala roars to life as he turns the key. The drive back is silent, the only sound is the purr of the engine, the hum of the wheels, and AC/DC shooting to thrill.


	3. Chapter 3

<<< >>>

Dean slams the door to the bunker once you’re inside. You can see down into the library from the entry balcony and you watch Sam jump at the sound. Dean stomps down the curved wrought iron stairwell, crosses the darkened control room, and stomps up the shallow steps into the library where he unceremoniously drops the bags of food on the end of the first table. Dean stands there dripping, smears of blood on his hands and unhappy face. Sam already put down his book and he leans back in his chair, concern in his eyes as he asks, “What happened?”

 “A damn demon is what happened.” Dean’s voice is flat and full of gravel as you catch up to him and enter the room. Sam’s eyes move from Dean to you and his concern turns to distress. Your hand unconsciously goes to your injured cheek. The bleeding has stopped but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still covered in blood. Sam launches from his chair and is at you in the space of a breath.

 “What? How?” Sam runs his thumb under your laceration and his tone goes from flustered distress to veiled anger as he turns his gaze to Dean. “I thought you were watching her?” Woah. Protective Sam is intense. He turns back to you and melts back into gentle concern. “Here. Sit down and I’ll grab the med kit.”

 “I was watching her man.” Guilt and shame threaded equally throughout Dean’s words. “I just. It was 2 minutes. 2 fucking minutes Sammy.” Dean is almost pleading now as Sam gives him a hard stare while heading back towards you from the large apothecary in the corner. Sam doesn’t respond, he just pulls a chair up and gently starts cleaning your cheek. You sit still while he works but the silence in the room is thick and uncomfortable.

 You don’t like the tension, so you try to break it by speaking up, telling them that the demon was looking for something. It works. Sam pulls back from where he is applying ointment to your wound with a surprised look and Dean’s head shoots up from where he was staring guiltily at the floor. “Looking for something?” Sam is the first to speak, “did he say what?”

 You repeat the exact words spoken to you _(Finally found you, you little bitch. Now where is it? Did you give it to the Winchesters you little shit?),_ word for word, followed by a –that’s all. The brothers look at each other for a minute, exchanging something unspoken, and then Sam leans back in his chair, his face thoughtful, Dean wearing a similar expression.

After a minute Sam leans forward again, “We were afraid something like this might happen.” You wear a puzzled look, so Sam continues. “We’ve been keeping you here because we thought they might come looking for you. Now we know we were right. Demons don’t normally care about witnesses, the more people they terrorize the better usually, but we’ve been tracking some strange demon activity lately and something just seemed off about the whole thing which is why we played it safe when we found you.”

 “Call it what it is Sammy. It was a gut feeling, ok? And I tend not to ignore those, ever.” Dean folds his arms and leans back against the table. “And I’m glad we didn’t because….” He trails off and his eyes drop back down to the floor.

 You quietly ask why all this is happening to you. “Bad timing mostly.” Sam says matter-of-factly. “That demon you ran into, the one who started all this, was doing something pretty major. Stealing an angel’s grace is not a common thing, especially if our source is right and it’s for a spell. And he wasn’t alone; there was another demon there. Dean chased him for two blocks before we lost him. Honestly, we weren’t sure if you were even on the radar until now but I guess that demon saw what happened and whomever he told… wants you. Or wants whatever they think you have.” Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m guessing you don’t have a clue what the demon from today was talking about?”

 You’re ashamed to admit it but you shake your head no, wishing you could be more helpful. Sam sighs, “That’s ok. I figured as much. What I don’t get is why they think you have something. I mean; the grace is gone so I don’t get it. You told us every detail from the other night right?” Sam’s face is still concerned but his question is pointed. You answer a quiet yes. “You didn’t leave anything out. Nothing at all?” His insistence is unnerving and with a little more volume you affirm that you gave every possible detail you knew of. Sam leans back in his chair again, going silent with thought. Dean contributes nothing, you aren’t quite sure why, but he hasn’t been handling this situation to well.

 Sam sighs heavily again and he starts to pack up the med kit. He fills in the silence by saying, “well it’s more than we had before but it kinda raises more questions than it answers.” Sam puts a reassuring hand on your knee, “but we happen to be pretty good at solving mysteries.” He stands and heads back across the room to put the kit away.

 Dean sees that Sam is trying to reassure you and decides to chip in, “Yeah we’re like Sherlock and Watson… just less British.” He flashes you a half-hearted smile but you see so much pain hidden behind it, that all it does is weigh you down. You return the smile as best you can, hoping that will lessen his burden, even if only a little. Dean stands, proclaiming, “Well I need another shower.” With that, his eyes drop to the floor and he walks out the door without another word.

 For a minute you just sit there in the chair, staring at nothing. Amazingly enough you aren’t focused on this new and frightening development, the Winchesters are the only thing crowding your brain at the moment. You’re pulled towards both of them so hard right now and it’s all mixed in with an adrenaline crash and terror that still lingers from the attack. Sam would make you feel so good right now. You saw his protective gentleness and concern. He would sooth your soul, tell you that everything will be ok, and then melt away the world with warm fervent kisses. That sounds so amazing but honestly you aren’t worried about yourself at the moment. Shocked, yes. Not used to this level of violence, yes. Astonished that someone wants to kill you, definitely. Still processing everything, hell yes. But you aren’t really concerned about yourself. Dean. You’re concerned for Dean. Why? You focus on that for a moment. It was the way he spoke to Sam. The guilt. He blames himself for some reason and he shouldn’t. You ache for him, not just sexually, but deep down where it really matters you hurt for him because he is hurting himself. You choose your direction.

 You thank Sam for patching you up and then tell him you’re going to rest for a while. He pulls you in for a hug and you melt into him for a moment, letting the world drop away, leaving only you and Sam. Then he kisses your uninjured cheek and softly says, “Go rest. I just put fresh clothes in your room and I’ll be by later to check up on you.” With a final squeeze you thank him again. It takes every ounce of effort you have just to pull away from Sam and then you pad out of the room, head hung in regret at the loss of his touch. The rainwater dripping from the bags holding the forgotten food, a deep sigh from Sam, and the sound of your receding footsteps are the only sound as Sam follows you with his eyes, leaving him standing there alone in the empty room.

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The further down the hallway you go the more you start to hurry. You pass your room without stopping, heading straight for the showers. As you get close you hear the water running and your pace slows to a walk. You sheepishly approach the archway to the shower room, wondering if you are doing the right thing.

 Your breath catches in your throat when you see him. Dean is leaning against the column, his muscled arm fully extended, fist clenched as it holds the weight of his upper body. His head is bowed and the water is flowing hot and unending down through his hair, running in dancing rivulets down his back. He is so beautiful, silly to use a girlie word to describe such a well-shaped masculine specimen but there is no other word. It’s a breathtaking sight. You shrink back out of sight but continue to watch as he suddenly straightens up and walks over to the nearby bench. Dean grabs the bottle of whiskey that’s waiting and tips his head back for a long pull. He let’s out a low growl and shakes off the burn, then walks back over and resumes the exact same position as before.

 Your heart twists painfully in your chest. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s supposed to be the white knight that slays monsters and then throws a party in celebration of a job well done. No one died, except the monster. No one was hurt, unless you count the pathetic little scratch on your cheek and maybe the need for some therapy. So why? Why does he feel so guilty?

 Realization hits you like a brick. It’s not about you. It has nothing at all to do with you and you find that relieving in a way but it also means the reason is so much more heartbreaking. That little run in with the demon was far from Dean’s first rodeo and you guess… no, you know for a fact that he has lost people, important people, and you shudder to think how many. Suddenly his guilt and angst are revealed in stark clarity and make perfect sense. It makes you want to cry. He puts all the blame for all the people he has lost in his life on his own two shoulders, just like he blames himself for the attack on you earlier. It’s no wonder he’s broken beneath that blustery bravado. Dean carries so much weight, and it’s so unnecessary. Not for the first time since you’ve met him, you just want to hug him, hold him and tell him everything will be all right.

 Your feet move without permission as you find yourself striding across the room to wrap your arms around a wet, naked, and startled Dean. For a moment he just stands there as you hold him tight, the water raining down on you both, then you feel his tension slide away with the flow of the shower and he wraps his arms around you. You don’t say a word; you don’t have to. You just know that he understands. It’s the connection that’s been there since you first met him. It gives and receives and right now you are giving him all you have, eyes squeezed shut as you crush him into you, willing him to know that it will be ok. You’re all right. You don’t blame him for anything. There is no reason to feel guilty. Don’t. Just don’t.

 You feel him receive your message loud and clear when Dean tips his head and his lips gently press against yours. You reciprocate, feeling the connection deepen and desire flares up, palpable and heavy between you both. Dean kisses you harder for a long moment and then pulls away abruptly, startling you from your revelry. He twists the knobs, turning off the shower, and then he grabs your hand and pulls you along with him. He swipes the bottle from the bench and hauls you behind him as he strides towards the hallway. You cling to his hand and follow wordlessly. He turns the opposite direction of your room, heading down a hallway you’ve never seen. He takes another long pull from the bottle as he walks, and then offers you a drink. You accept. The whiskey rolls down your throat hot and sour, burning all the way to your belly. Dean chuckles at the face you make and then snags the bottle for another drink. Several turns and hallways later Dean stops at a doorway and swings you roughly into his still wet body. He kisses you deep, lingering against your lips with his eyes closed for a moment, and then he pulls you through the door, closing it behind you.

 It’s bigger than the one you were given. Sharp weapons and well-kept firearms are balanced on hooks along one wall while boxes clutter up a corner. Over in another corner an iPod plays music, Led Zeppelin you think but don’t really care. Dean’s room, you’re in Dean’s room. For some reason that turns you on hard and you wrap your arms around his neck and lick your way into his whiskey flavored mouth. “Yeah. That’s my girl.” Dean’s voice is breathy and low between your kisses. He returns your lust with animated hands as he unhooks your bra and then expertly slides your wet shirt and bra up and off your body followed by pushing your skirt down until it falls to the floor in a soggy heap. You are both completely naked now, and when Dean presses his body up against yours it’s like an oven. One tiny part of your brain muses that steam should be curling up from you both because it feels like your blood is boiling with pent up need and his body feels just as fevered. Naked flesh against naked flesh feels so good and you welcome the bed beneath you as Dean guides you onto the mattress.

 Dean’s weight on top of you is intoxicating and your legs open for him with no resistance. “Yeah. Let me have that sweet spot.” His cock has been hard for some time now, you remember it bobbing against his belly as you found your way to his room, and now it nudges at your entrance. You were slick with desire the moment you saw him in the shower and now Dean glides into your wet and quivering sex with ease. You moan into his mouth as he fills you up completely. “Holy shit,” Dean moans as he curls his hips into you, grinding against your pelvis, “you feel even better the second time.” Dean’s body is tensing as he struggles to hold back. “Fuck me” a note of surprise in his voice as he stills for a moment. His breath is hot against your cut cheek while he breathes through the euphoria and then he starts thrusting. The feel of Dean’s powerful body shoving into you is resplendent and you feel that boiling pool of desire building up quickly. “God. Your tight. Little pussy. Makes me want you. So bad. So Fucking bad.” Your exploring tongue breaks Dean’s words as he continues to pump a hard rhythm, “You want it. Don’t you. You like it. When I. Give it to you.”

 You ride the ecstasy, your mind lost in a haze of pleasure as his passion devours you. Then without warning Dean slides out of you, leaving you feeling so empty and aching for more. His lips trail down your skin and stop at your breasts. Dean’s hand teases one nipple while his teeth gently pull at your other. “Mmm you taste so fucking delicious girl.” Words whispered against your skin as he moves his mouth to your other breast. Shocks of pleasure course through your body and you moan in appreciation. Then he’s gone, your body feeling cold and exposed.

 Your eyes fly open when Dean grabs your hips and pulls you across the sheets to the end of the bed where he’s standing. Your legs hook around his waist as his thick cock glides back in, and Dean grips your thighs tight, closing his eyes in rapture as he breaths out, “shit. It feels like the first time, every time with you.” He slowly drifts in and out of you for a minute, the pace torturously slow, and then he shifts his stance and slowly picks up speed. Dean is back to pumping hard, shocks of blinding bliss with every inward thrust. This position gives Dean access to all sorts of things and he takes full advantage. He starts by palming your breast and then pinching each nipple in turn, rolling each one between his finger and thumb, all while thrusting and wearing a wrecked grin. “You like that? Mmm. Yeah you do.” You writhe on the bed as your body becomes overwhelmed, the view of this glorious creature driving into you, his expert fingers generating waves of gratifying shivers, his cock a decedent massage deep within. He bites his lip, straining to maintain his rhythm as his fingers glide down your skin until they find your sex and he starts to thumb your clit.

 “Oh yeah.” His voice a low gasp as your climax hits hard, “oh fucking yeah,” Dean growls as your orgasm steals your breath away, your body shuddering, your sex tightening around his shaft as he continues to drive hard. Dean keeps snapping his hips and you slam back into him, tensing your legs, using them as leverage, pushing each thrust of him inside as deep as possible while he continues to finger your clit. Your cries escape as strangled gasps while you grip the bed, the intensity of all things Dean both blinding and beautiful. “Jesus Christ!” You hear Dean’s voice strain into a deep chocked sputter, “Oh God. Nnnnnngh God,” as he shoves in deep a few more times and then stills, buried deep and throbbing hot inside you.

 Before you can breathe Dean’s weight is crushing you into the mattress, his lips earnest, tongue eager as it pushes into your mouth, stealing your breath and prolonging the ecstasy of the moment. Then his kisses fade to a gentle caress, then to a light gloss over your skin as he slumps down next to you on the bed. You curl up into him so he’s spooning you and your fingers play with his malleable hand as he relaxes against you. Contented silence follows for a time and then Dean’s lips press warm and gentle against your neck, “I’m glad you’re ok.” You tilt your head until you meet his lips and a soft passionate kiss follows. It takes a while for you to stop but you finally disengage from him and sit up. Dean props his head up on one arm, watching you.

 You survey the room for a moment, the pile of soggy clothes lay near your feet, the bottle of whiskey rests on the table by the door and several clean t-shirts are stacked on a nearby chair. You snap up a t-shirt and throw it on without asking and then take a chug of whiskey and shudder through the after burn. Dean chuckles. You turn and look at him. Dean Winchester is one fucking hot slice of man. He’s radiant with that just fucked look and he is grinning at you. Your knees go a little weak at the thought of what the two of you just did. You take another pull from the bottle, shuddering again, and then you crawl onto the bed enough to kiss him deep and hard as his fingers thread up into your hair. As you dessert his lips, Dean’s eyes are still shut and he lets out a contented moan. Before you are off the bed he snags the bottle from your hand, eyes still closed and you smile as he grins again. Then you scoop up the clothes and just before you open the door, you pluck your panties from the jacket hanging next to the entrance. Dean keeps grinning, you grin back and he gives you a wink as you take one last look at him and disappear into the hallway.

  <<< >>>

The hall is still wet from Dean trailing water and you use that to guide you back to the shower room where you dump your saturated clothes on the bench and peel of the t-shirt you stole. You turn the water to just below the point of hot pain and melt into a mindless state of recurring memory. You play back recent events, steering clear of the traumatic parts and you get lost in the remembered feel of both brothers. Your shower is long and rejuvenating and you’re riding a nice high, and a bit of a buzz from the whiskey, as you head back towards the room. Luckily Dean left his towel in the shower room, so you pad down the hallway with it wrapped securely around you, the dry t-shirt you took from him clutched in your fist. Your room is untouched except for the addition of the same pants and shirt from the day before freshly laundered, neatly folded, and waiting on the chair. You toss the t-shirt across the back of the chair and go brush your teeth; whiskey doesn’t taste as awesome as it should.

 When done, the towel gets tossed on the floor, as you get dressed. You didn’t wear underwear with the cargo pants last time so it doesn’t bother you this time either as you slide them on; however, your bra is soaking wet and laying back in the shower room. That means you’ll be all-natural tonight. Your bra was padded enough to hide your erect nipples before but now the soft fabric of the t-shirt skims over your still sensitive breasts, causing shivers without that extra layer of protection you’re used to. You will probably be headlighting for the rest of the evening and despite being freshly fucked sideways by Dean you are enjoying the thought of both boys getting an eyeful.

 Your clothes smell of Dean and you inhale deeply. You lie on the bed, immediately remembering that you deliberately didn’t change the pillowcase as Sam’s scent fills your nose and mingles with Dean’s. You get lost in it, your mind intermingling the brothers in your thoughts until you’re all twisted up and coherent thoughts are no longer possible. You pay no attention to how much time passes but an angry rumble of emptiness in your stomach compels you to come back to reality. That’s when you realize lunch never happened. You sit up, still hugging the pillow that smells like Sam as you stare blankly at the wall. The buzz from the whiskey isn’t helping you focus and your mind keeps drifting from raiding the galley to tracking down a Winchester.

 You take a moment to mull those two choices over because you don’t quite understand. Why on earth are you still aching for them? You have just been ridden hard and left deeply satisfied and both brothers have blown your mind in the two days that you’ve been here, enough that you should be satisfied for a month. Yet you can’t seem to get enough. It feels like they are a drug and you are constantly looking for your next fix. When did you turn into such an insatiable nympho? It isn’t just that though. There is more to it. It’s that weird pulling connection that you have towards both of them. Each one is equally magnetizing and the more you think about it, the more you find it’s not just about the sex. You care about these guys, you enjoy their company, and you have somehow become invested in them. You figure it might have something to do with the fact that they are protecting you… and Dean did just save your life, so… maybe… you don’t know. It’s so hard to think when your nose is buried in the Sam pillow.

 “Hey.” That word scares the shit out of you. You spaz and then recover quickly when you see its just Sam standing in the doorway. You sigh in relief and return the ‘hey’ with a blushing face. He keeps his distance, not moving past the doorframe. “You hungry? It’s a little early for dinner but you skipped lunch so…” Sam trails off, not finishing his sentence, as he stands there with his hands stuffed in his pockets per usual. He seems shy, a different kind of shy than before. You stand and tell him dinner sounds awesome. You drop the pillow back in place on the bed and turn to face him. Sam’s eyes grow wide for a moment and then he quickly pulls into a tight poker face. You smile sheepishly at him and inside you’re overjoyed because you know that was a reaction to your braless state. Then he looks at the floor, not returning your smile, like he shouldn’t be looking.

 Sam shifts and locks eyes with you, his jaw clenched, “can we please talk about last night?” Your stomach twists up tight and unhappy because you haven’t really spoken about any of your extracurricular activities so far, and the thought of airing them out with words is terrifying for some reason. But Sam is the talking type, you know this somehow. You also know it won’t be a bad conversation but you still don’t want to talk about it. You resign yourself to your fate. You can’t avoid this forever. You take a deep breath as you continue to stare back at him and that’s when you notice Sam seems different than before. It’s strange. It’s like he’s hurt. He seems so forlorn, standing there like a lost puppy.

 Your eyes widen as it suddenly registers, that connection between you two sharing unsolicited understanding. He knows. He knows about you and Dean and he thinks you’ve chosen Dean over him. Oh God no. He is so very wrong. You haven’t chosen either one, you want them both. You want him just as much as you want Dean. But. But how in the hell do you say something like that and expect a person to be ok with it? You stand there frozen for a moment, Sam’s sentence lingering in the silence that has followed. Then you try something. It worked with Dean so why not try it on Sam. You walk over and slide your arms around his waist and you press your cheek against his chest. Damn he’s so tall, but he is warm and firm and that static tingle has returned everywhere you’re touching him. You just hold him, standing there in the doorway, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. Like before, you begin willing him to understand. Understand that you do want him; you do care for him, he isn’t second fiddle to his big brother, and that you have not chosen anyone over anyone. You say a thousand things silently, while not saying a single word.

 For a long moment Sam remains still, his breathing the only movement and sound he makes; then he folds his arms around you and rests his chin on top of your head. Sam inhales deeply and then gently sighs out an “Ok.” Another deep breath and another, “Ok.” The second is more accepting and resolute than the first. And it is ok. Somehow you just know it is. Somehow, someway Sam is ok with this. You should be more shocked, completely dumbfounded, but you aren’t. It’s because you are so incredibly ok with this too and that isn’t exactly normal either. You want to kiss him, hard and devouring. The urge surges up uncontrollably and you find yourself moving to do so before you can truly think about it, but Sam pulls back, keeping you from reaching that goal. Your eyes meet and there is a villainous little gleam in those green orbs as a smirk spreads across his face. His fingers cup your chin and Sam plants a very chaste, although lingering, kiss on your lips and then he steps back, disengaging from your embrace.

 You see the blazing lust in Sam’s eyes, the strain it takes to remove himself from you, but you also see the overwhelming control as he reigns it in, boxing it up and saving it for later. Oh Sam. Sam is a wicked tease. What a secretly cruel man. He could have you hard and heavy right now any way he chooses but instead he will wait, which means you have to wait. You feel your body responding to this salacious torture. Sam has a touch of a sadist in him, but he’s a masochist too because he’s putting himself through the same agony. Your body is quaking with desire, wanting so much more and wanting it now, but he isn’t going to give it to you. The smile on his face says he will enjoy every moment of holding this power over you, this promise of ‘later’. This will be a long and deliciously torturous evening.


	4. Chapter 4

  
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The three of you sit in the galley, the mood light and jovial. Dinner is reheated Bigerson’s with pie for dessert. It’s not half bad but you find yourself hoping that one or both of the boys will cook again soon, and you tell them as much. They both beam with pride at the praise. Your ‘therapy’ session with Dean did a world of good and your ‘chat’ with Sam had an equal effect because you all end up joking around and teasing each other through dinner. Dean gets a bit handsy when the opportunity presents itself, apparently feeling very familiar with you now and not giving a single fuck what Sam thinks. Sam shows absolutely no reaction to Dean’s roaming hands, which is a little surprising, but you aren’t sure how to read him right now. He made it very clear that there would be a ‘later’ and you aren’t exactly sure what that means but the anticipation is agonizing and delicious. Regardless, Sam never cracks; his attitude and demeanor never betraying his desires and his salacious plan, at least never when Dean is looking. It’s provocative and so damn seductive to see Sam’s self control; you can’t help but admire him whenever you can but when Dean isn’t looking things get even more interesting. Dean heads to the fridge for another beer. Suddenly Sam shifts into this intense force of lust, his eyes fucking you from across the table as he leans forward and gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. The suddenness is like a blow to your gut, powerful and breathtaking and you struggle to contain your emotions as Dean closes the fridge and heads back to the table. By then Sam has shifted back into jolly-lighthearted-Sam, leaning back and taking another bite of dinner, leaving you a hot wreck. His execution is flawless and any time Dean is distracted Sam’s eyes capture yours, vivid and consuming, reminding you of his promise.

 Dean leaves the two of you to clean up the dishes, proclaiming it’s his night to pick the movie and he’s going on the hunt for something fun. Your mind has been spinning, reveling in the forward possession that Dean has over you followed by the private and intense power that Sam keeps hidden for only you. Its one hell of a ride all around and your body is humming with pleasure at all the attention.

 Your conversation with Sam is fun; a continuation from dinner and the dishes are a quick chore made quicker by good company. You’re rinsing off the last plate to put in the drainer as Sam dries his hands on the towel and you don’t notice his shift in demeanor. Without warning Sam’s lips are against yours, stealing your breath away and setting your body alight with need as you stand there, hands slightly raised to each side as water runs down your arms and drips to the floor. Sam closes the space, his hand on your back pressing you in closer, as his tongue drifts between your lips. His height makes it feel like he’s on top of you, encompassing you, and you melt into him, a quiet moan escaping between licks of his tongue. Just as you fully realize the splendor of the moment, it’s over, because Sam suddenly pulls away and steps back. There is a wicked, wrecked smile on his face as he smoothes his hair and steadies his breathing. Holy shit he is so cruel and so damn hot. The veins in his arms are bulging from the strain it’s taking to keep him from coming back in for more and you notice that his body is shaking ever so slightly. Sam Winchester has never looked sexier, standing there with his jaw clenched tight, controlling himself with sheer willpower. You’re pretty sure all you’d have to do is touch him and his control would snap. You could, but then the game would be over and Dean would have to watch his movie alone because you and Sam would be too busy fucking hard and passionate on the kitchen table, but where is the fun in that? You surprise yourself with that thought and then realize that while it would be hella awesome to fuck on the table, this game is shaping up to be even more fun and satisfying, so you want to play too. Your very own naughty little smile appears as you lock eyes with Sam. You dry off on the nearby towel and slowly walk out of the room. Two can play at this fun game.

<<< >>>

Spaceballs. Always good for a chuckle, which is more or less the argument Dean gives. “Come on. It’s Star Wars, just a helluva lot funnier.” His radiant smile is easily enough to convince you to be on board, besides, Mel Brooks is awesome. Sam seems like he wants to protest but then thinks better of it when you appear to be ok with the selection. The three of you are standing in a room you’ve never seen before; the boys apparently retooled it as a bit of an entertainment room somewhere along the way. There’s a mini-fridge full of beer, a worn out couch with a half decent flat screen tv on the wall opposite it, and a couple of semi-decent chairs sitting at a little round table in the corner near the door. “Why don’t you go pop us some popcorn Sammy?” Dean tosses the words over his shoulder as he stoops to put in the movie.

 “Nope. You know the rules man. You pick, you pop.” Sam’s arms are folded across his chest with a look of no-negotiation-allowed. Dean glances at him, frowns, and then sighs.

 “Damn it”, Dean is barely audible but it’s still heard by everyone in the room. “Ok. Fine. But that means no whining when I make it the awesome way.” Sam shrugs at the finger Dean points at him, a sign of submission and no whining. Dean perks up at his own thought of making ‘awesome’ popcorn and he heads out the door towards the kitchen.

 Before Dean is even out of earshot Sam is on you. “Now you’re mine.” Almost a purr from Sam’s lips as he lifts you from where you were perched on the arm of the couch, pulling you into him, like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. Your mouth is the source of his oxygen and he devours you with savage kisses. He doesn’t hurt you. He is raging yet soft, intense yet gentle. He’s still holding back. You feel it. It’s like he wants to gorge, to consume all of you, leaving nothing untouched or unsatisfied. You try to match his hunger but fall short because he is fierce, leaving you breathless and overpowered, body quivering in his embrace. His tongue is commanding and his hands are firm and confident as they roam over your clothes, gripping your ass, your breasts, your hips, sliding up between your legs to tease your sex. It’s splendid torture. Sam’s powerful hands sending waves of pleasure in their wake. The world melts away and there is only Sam, blazing bright with lust. His hunger is voracious and you cling to him as he rages into you. For a full second you worry about Dean walking in but the unyielding force of Sam burns that away and you don’t care if you get caught because you don’t want this to stop, ever.

 But it does stop and you feel so desolate and cold when Sam pries himself from you. His breathing is ragged and his body is shaking. He straightens his spine and takes a moment to steady himself, running his hand down his face and through his hair as he begins to calm himself, all while never taking his eyes off you. He looks wrecked and sexy and you want him so badly but your legs are pudding and all you can manage to do is lean back against the arm of the couch. Sam clears his throat, shakes his arms like he’s shaking off a muscle burn from lifting, and then peels his eyes from you so he can raid the mini-fridge, trying to act like that moment never happened.

 Sam comes up with three bottles and he sets them on the little table in front of the couch. He’s back to his placid poker face self as he gently guides you to the middle of the couch, helping you sit down like you’re an invalid, and to be honest you sorta feel like one right now. You feel Sam’s controlled tension when he touches you and it’s electric, merely adding to your disjointed state. Dean walks in the door as Sam takes a seat to your right while handing you a beer. Dean grins big when he sees that he gets to sit next to you, “Thanks for waiting. I’ve seen this a hundred times but I hate it when I miss shit, you know?” Dean plops down on the couch to your left as Sam pops the top off a beer for him. You blush when you think of what he just missed.

<<< >>>

There you are, sitting between two monumental distractions, each one touching you and causing that pool of lust in your stomach to pitch and churn. Dean has his hand firmly planted on your thigh, his thumb rubbing mindlessly on the fabric of your borrowed cargo pants. Tingles of yearning run straight up your leg to your sweet spot, driving you to distraction. He only moves his hand to grab popcorn from the bowl that’s balanced in your lap and then it goes right back on your leg again. Sam is no less of a distraction even though his hand rests at a gentlemanly distance from you. His leg is pressed firmly against yours from hip to floor, electric tingles along every inch that’s touching, and even his foot is pressed to yours because he knows Dean won’t look.

 Thank God you’ve seen this movie before because you aren’t watching. You vaguely comprehend what is happening on screen as you stare straight ahead or find yourself locking eyes and grinning with each brother intermittently. You laugh when they laugh, pulling cues from their reactions, but your mind is a puddle of preoccupied carnal thoughts and it’s taking all your willpower to refrain from acting on your desires. You feel the same strain from each of them but apparently they are much better at denying themselves, because they both appear at ease despite that.

 Somewhere around ‘ludicrous speed’ Dean’s cell phone goes off. He flips to all business in an instant as he launches off the couch. Your left side feels suddenly cold and abandoned as Dean answers with a “Talk to me,” before he’s even made it into the hallway. You look to Sam, your face asking the question of what’s going on, instead of saying it out loud.

 “Not sure. Could be nothing.” Sam answers quietly as he follows Dean with his eyes. You hear a note of something in his voice. Apprehension? Maybe fear? You aren’t sure which. Part of you is focused on what the call could mean and the other part is aching to take advantage of this little opportunity. You look at Sam and he is completely preoccupied, trying in vain to listen in on the phone call, much to your disappointment, so you refrain from acting. After a minute or two of silence between you and Sam, Dean comes striding back into the room with a, “Thanks Cas. Got it.”

 “Cas?” Sam stands up, going on full alert. “He’s got something?” You stand up too, hugging the popcorn bowl as you listen.

 “Yeah, he thinks so. We gotta roll out now or we’ll miss our chance. Cas thinks it’s a groupa demons with some scary secret plan.” Dean’s sarcastic tone and the sigh threaded throughout that last part makes him sound annoyed, like he’s tired of bad guys always trying to do bad things. “They’re tucked up in a little clubhouse, couple hours’ drive from here; we can be there before sun up.” Dean plunges his hand into the bowl you’re holding, shoves a mouthful of popcorn in his mouth, and then starts heading back towards the hallway.

 “Wait. Dean.” Sam’s plea is insistent. Dean goes full stop and stares at Sammy, chewing and waiting. “I should stay here. We can’t leave her here unprotected.” Sam’s words appear almost desperate, like he really doesn’t want to go. You know why he wants to stay and you find yourself hoping beyond hope that Dean can fly solo; but you remain silent, merely listening and shifting your eyes from one brother to the other as Yogurt shows off his flamethrower in the background.

 “Really Sammy?” It’s Dean’s turn to wear a bitchface and it’s pretty glorious. “This is the safest place on the planet and she’s a big girl who can take care of herself.” Dean turns to you, “Right?” His expression indicating that you, indeed, are a grown up who can handle this and you better agree. You just stare at Dean. You don’t know how to answer. Sure you can take care of yourself, but that doesn’t mean you want to be alone right now, or ever for that matter. Dean reads your non-response as fear; so he sighs and tucks his phone in his pocket while heading towards you. His excited hurry has melted away for the moment as he puts his hands on your shoulders and rubs his thumbs gently against your collarbone, his emerald eyes holding your attention. “Listen. I don’t want to leave you here high and dry. I really don’t. In fact I hate the idea, but I need backup. I need Sam. He’s the best damn hunter out there. Better than me, and I need him. We gotta do this, ok? This could be the answer we’ve been looking for. With any luck we’ll come back with the mystery solved and we can all have a Scooby snack.” Dean cups your cheek in one hand, making sure you keep eye contact. “Don’t worry, we won’t be gone long.” He gives you a genuinely reassuring smile as he runs his thumb along your cheekbone and you reply with a quiet ok. Dean’s smile broadens, “that’s my girl” and then he leans in and presses his lips against yours. He lingers for moment, revaluating the urgency of things, but the hunter in him wins out and Dean wills himself to stop. As he pulls away, he scrutinizes Sam who is watching and you can see the possessive glint in Dean’s eyes for a split second before he turns towards the door and belts out, “Come on Sammy, times a wastin’.” Your eyes follow Dean as he exits the room and then they slowly pan the room until they latch onto Sam.

 Sam suddenly looks wrecked. All that cool self-control from before is melting because you know he wasn’t expecting this and neither were you. He didn’t think he’d have to wait much longer to have you and now… now. Who knows when he will get his next chance? His long legs bring him into your space quickly. He plucks the bowl of popcorn from your hands, setting it on the couch, his gaze never leaving you. Both of Sam’s hands thread up into your hair, holding you firmly as his mouth encompasses yours, his tongue pressing in hot and desperate. You stand there receiving, pliant in his grip. The promise he pours into that kiss is overwhelming, leaving you stunned. It says that he will be back and he will have you. Sam releases your lips, rests his forehead against yours and softly asks, “Where’s your cell phone?”

 It takes you a minute before you realize he asked a question and you have to swim through a thick haze of desire to find your way back to some sort of reality. When you don’t answer, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, kisses your lips one more time, and then steps back while asking again, “Where’s your cell phone?” You feel so empty without his touch and are embarrassed to say you practically whimper a reply, telling him it’s in your room. “Come with me.” He takes your hand, electric tingles again, and he guides you out of the room and down the hallway as the tv continues to play. _–It’s Mega Maid, she’s gone from suck to blow_.

 You walk at a hurried pace down the hallway, hand still clutched in Sam’s as you try to keep up with his long stride. When you get to your room he swipes the cell phone from the bedside table and then pauses, “May I?” You give him a wary yes, wondering what he’s doing. He pushes some buttons, then a couple more buttons. “There. We have your number now, and you have both Dean’s number and mine.” He hands you the phone, “If you need anything.” He closes the space between you, “And I mean anything” His fingers cup your chin as he forces you to meet his gaze once more, “Don’t hesitate to call or text either one of us, ok? Ok?” He searches your face for agreement and you give it to him. He relaxes just a little and then he swoops in for another deep drought from your lips.

 “Sammy? What’s keepin’ ya?” Dean’s voice echoes through the corridors forcing Sam to tear himself away from you once more, leaving you wanting. He steps back, giving you a strained smile of regret mixed in with the most adorable set of puppydog eyes you’ve ever seen. It’s like he wants to play but has been scolded and can’t. Then he turns the corner and you hear his pace quicken to a run as he heads towards Dean’s bellowing voice.

 You head towards the main entrance with your cell phone clutched in your hand, still warm from Sam’s hand, and you hear the outside door to the bunker slam shut and the giant wheel twists until it latches. It echoes throughout the silent halls with finality like a tomb. Suddenly this place is way to empty.

<<< >>> 

Well you’re alone now. Yippee. Not. You wonder what on earth to do with yourself. You tuck your phone in one of the many pockets available and pad back to the entertainment room. After turning off the electronics you scoop up the bottles and the bowl of popcorn and munch as you walk to the galley. Dean really does make ‘awesome’ popcorn. You aren’t sure what kind of seasoning he put on it but it’s delicious. At least now you can appreciate it since the Winchester’s aren’t overtaking ever brain cell you have. The popcorn meets a quick end and you clean up the dishes; and then you just putter around aimlessly. It’s getting late and now that you’re alone, fatigue is beginning to set in. A lot happened today and you are more emotionally exhausted than physically, which burns a person out quick.

 It doesn’t take long till you find your room and strip down to just Dean’s t-shirt. You brush the popcorn out of your teeth and fuss around for a couple of minutes, making sure to plug your cell phone into the charger that one of the brothers was kind enough to provide. So now you have their numbers. You really want to text one of them, just to make sure it works and to see if they will respond. It’s silly, but you can’t let the thought go. You scroll till you find Sam’s name and then shoot him a quick message. Nice and platonic ~ _where is the laundry room?~_  You figure he should respond pretty quickly because you bet Dean is driving and Sam is occupying the seat you sat in earlier today. Sure enough your phone gives off a familiar jingle and it’s Sam. It’s all business, giving you directions from your room to the laundry. You are content with that. Question answered, test passed. You set your phone down and just as you crawl into bed it jingles again. Sam’s name is sprawled across your lock screen. You figure he must have forgotten something so you open up the text. ~ _All your clothes are in the dryer, which means you haven’t been wearing much of anything tonight. Wish I were there right now.~_

 You suck in a breath as your body heats up. Good lord that was hot and totally unexpected. You aren’t sure how to respond to that other than to say, ~ _I wish you were here too_.~ It’s kinda lame but it’s the truth. The phone jingles again and you read Sam’s message ~ _be back before you know it. Goodnight and sweet dreams_.~ Sweet dreams indeed, no thanks to him. Now your mind is a mess of emotions. You had managed to calm that stupid, treacherous, pool of desire deep inside but now it’s churning again. You lay your phone so it won’t ring, turn off the light and snuggle into the pillow that smells of Sam. 


	5. Chapter 5

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Some of your dreams were indeed very sweet. Dreams of the brothers, filled with strong hands, exploring mouths, and bliss. Sweet sweet bliss. Unfortunately the rest of what you dreamt was a menagerie of nightmares and terror, leaving you yelling out and sobbing in the fetal position. You woke up several times during the night because of this and while you did sleep, you’re not well rested when you finally give up on it somewhere around mid-morning. You shuffle to the bathroom and then walk over to the bedside table where you pick up your phone. You see two texts that suddenly obliterate the cobwebs of slumber. One is from Sam and the other from Dean.

 You open up Dean’s text first and all it says is ~ _don’t eat all the pie~_. You smile to yourself, knowing this is his way of showing that he cares enough to text but has no idea what to say. You chuckle as you respond with ~ _I might save you a slice ;)~_. You add the wink because that wording reminds you of the conversation you overheard in the library, and indeed, Dean did end up with a slice of your pie, twice. That thought warms you up a little bit and helps bury the memory of the nightmares that have yet to fully fade.

 You open up Sam’s text _~did you sleep well?~_ Very ambiguous. You aren’t sure if it’s a question for business or pleasure and you don’t want to worry him with talk of your nightmares so you deflect by writing back, _~Yup. Sweet dreams. Anything new with you?~_ You wonder what Sam will decipher from your response as you throw on Dean’s pants and head for the galley to rustle up some breakfast. It’s like your phone is super-glued to your hand as you go about putting cereal in a bowl one-handed. Just as you’re pouring milk on your Frooty Lootys the phone jangles. It’s Sam. _~Nothing new. Glad you slept better than me. Just got into town. Let you know later~_ Well that was all business so you can tell now isn’t the time for flirting. ~Please be careful~ Is your response and then you find it much easier to set your phone down and focus on breakfast.

 The day goes by excruciatingly slow and it’s only because you really don’t want to be alone. Neither of the brothers text again, but that’s ok, you understand. You take forever in the shower, because you can. You find the laundry room where you gather up your stuff; you launder the cargo pants and t-shirt with what looks like your old sheets and putter around wearing only Dean’s t-shirt, just because. You watch a movie while splayed out on the couch eating some lunch you scrounged up, because it’s fun. You fiddle a while on your phone, because you’re bored and you wander the halls exploring the bunker, because you’re curious. Sigh. Not the most noteworthy day.

 Sometime in the afternoon you decide to be a bit more useful by heading to the library. You feel a little guilty that the boys are doing lord knows what for you and the only thing you’ve managed to do is a load of laundry that you helped create. So you settle into the comfy armchair and start researching. You aren’t really sure what you’re looking for but you figure that maybe luck will smile on you. You chuckle. You got lucky with both of the Winchesters so…. You stop yourself, rolling your eyes. They aren’t even here and you’re thinking about them. You scold yourself and then try to focus on the task at hand.

 Time ticks by. You’ve book-marked a couple of tomes and you have a system of stacks on the table. You even found a couple of things online that are saved to show Sam later. Somewhere around five your phone jangles. You’ve spent hours looking at book after book and the silence has been a comforting embrace, now shattered. It’s Sam. _~Headed back. We’re ok. Hope you like pizza.~_ You let out a sigh of relief. Waiting is stressful and you didn’t realize until just now that a part of you has been on edge all day. You text back, _~Love pizza. Glad you’re ok. I’ll be waiting.~_ He doesn’t text after that and you wonder what kind of mood he’s in. You were half expecting some sort of, ‘don’t be wearing panties’ or something but he was all business again. You are a little disappointed but it doesn’t bother you too much because they’re coming back. Sam and Dean are on their way. You’ll get to see them soon… and suddenly you feel really alone.

<<< >>>

You’re anxious about the brothers returning. You can’t wait to see them again but you’re also wondering if you’re ready to find out what they’ve been doing and what new information they have. Part of you wants the mystery solved, the danger gone and a happily ever after. The other part of you wants this to drag out for as long as possible because… well… because. Just in case one or both of the boys are inclined to misbehave you freshen up, make sure you look decent and then decide it’s best to put on the freshly laundered cargo pants and t-shirt so you aren’t naked when they arrive.  That doesn’t take very long so you end up back in the library. Research is the only thing keeping you from going crazy while you wait and you try not to watch the clock. You let out an explosive breath when you finally hear the latch make a loud clunk on the bunker door. It takes every ounce of self-control to maintain a calm demeanor and look nonchalant as they clomp down the stairs. You stand there, hugging a book as they trudge into the library. Both brothers greet you with a weary smile and a hello and you say hi back, noting that they look tired and dirty. Dean dumps the pizza box on the nearest table and flips open the box lid. Two slices are already missing. You smile because they must have gotten hungry in the car. Dean saunters to the mini-fridge in the corner to grab some beers and he comes back and sets them on the table and grabs a slice of pie.

The three of you sit, Dean with his feet propped up, and Sam with his long legs stretched out under the table. You want to ask. In fact you are dying to ask, but you don’t, hoping they will just talk without prompting. They don’t. Dinner is eaten in silence and both boys look pretty spent. You keep quiet because the mood feels like two soldiers just walked off the battlefield and saw some major shit they don’t want to talk about. So you respect the silence and it’s not uncomfortable, just quiet. Dean polishes off his beer, stands, and in a weary voice says, “My ass hasn’t slept in two days. I got dibs on the shower and then I’m hittin the sack.” Sam raises his beer in submission but otherwise doesn’t move from his sprawled position where he’s staring at the lid of the pizza box. You give Dean a quiet goodnight. He shoots you a beautiful smile that melts the tiredness from his face for a moment and then Dean is back to looking drained as he heads down the steps, disappearing out of sight.

 You stare at Sam. You don’t mean to, but it happens anyways. His face is placid, giving no hint of what’s on his mind. With the way he is mindlessly staring at the box lid he may not be thinking anything at all. Then Sam inhales deeply, breaking his gaze into nothing, and he scans the room. His eyes stop when he gets to the stacks of books you’ve made on the adjacent table and then he looks at you. You quietly admit that you did some research while they were gone. You don’t know why you’re timid and talking so softly but for some reason you feel like a mouse amongst lions. Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Thanks. I appreciate the help. Did you find anything?” You decide now isn’t the time for such talk and you tell Sam he looks whipped and there is always tomorrow. “Fair point. I won’t argue that. Well I should go grab a shower.” Sam lets out a little grunt as he unfolds from the chair, then he silently descends the stairs and disappears just like Dean.

<<< >>>

Well that wasn’t as awesome as you were hoping, but you weren’t sure what to expect anyways so you can’t really be disappointed. You sit in silence for a time, thinking about the boys and what they must have went through. You imagine it was violent and terrifying but you feel warmth inside knowing that they risked a lot for you. There are two slices of pizza left, so you finally get up, fold up the box and head for the kitchen. Your phone jingles as you’re walking and you stop to check it. Sam’s name is scrawled across the lock screen. You hold your breath as you open the text. _~I’m not as tired as you think.~_ Texts can be interpreted a hundred different ways but you know exactly what he means by that and your stomach clenches tight and your eyes grow wide at those words. All the anticipation that you’ve been fighting rolls over you with brutal force and suddenly you crave Sam’s touch so bad it almost physically hurts. You have no idea how to respond though. Everything that comes to mind is so lame but you feel that some sort of reply is in order. _~I’m glad~_ is the pathetic reply you give but your mind is a little blown at the moment which is probably what he was going for. You wonder if Sam texted while naked in the shower and whatever is left of your mind melts at the thought.

 The phone gets shoved back into a pocket and you make it to the galley. You stop abruptly when you find Dean leaning on the fridge door in nothing but a bath towel. Your brain switches gears as you stare. Damn he looks amazing. He’s peering inside, surveying the contents of the fridge and he doesn’t immediately notice you. Beads of water are scattered across the muscles on his back and his hair is still dripping slightly, making a small puddle on the floor. Sam has that pool of desire churning inside you and now Dean is giving it another good stir as you watch, mesmerized. He pulls out the orange juice and drinks straight from the container, tipping his head back as he chugs. The lines of Dean’s neck and face have a manly delicacy to them and you find yourself wanting to run your tongue up his neck, his cheek, and you want to lap at his stubbled skin until your tongue slides between those angelic lips.

 “Hey girlie.” Dean spots you and flashes a toothy smile as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You almost drop the pizza. “I got room on the top shelf for that.” It takes you a moment to comprehend what he’s talking about and then you catch up to the conversation and realize he means the pizza. You make your way across the room as he tucks the OJ back into the fridge. He straightens up so he can pry the pizza from your hands. He tosses it on the top shelf, shuts the door, and then Dean’s eyes slide up and down all of you, his grin never leaving his face. He steps into your personal space, hand pulling you in from the small of your back as his towel covered crotch presses against you. Dean’s fingers glide through your hair as those angelic lips you were admiring suckle at your bottom lip. It’s a lazy kiss, one that merely enjoys the pleasure of touching more than to claim. Your knees go weak and you disappear into the moment but a part of you is still holding onto the promise of Sam’s ‘later’.

 For minutes; or is it hours, Dean’s tongue dances slowly with yours. He’s holding you close as your fingers thread into his cropped hair and his body is warm against you. Then he pulls away gently. His thumb runs along the cut that’s healing nicely on your cheek as he breathes out “Damn girl. I don’t wanna say no but a guys gotta have his rest.” He steps back, “Rain check?” You nod yes and his face splits into a pleased grin and he gives you a sexy little wink before turning and walking out of the room. Good god it’s good to be you right now.

<<< >>>

Your phone jingles. It’s Sam. _~Almost time.~_ Correction, it’s really really good to be you. With shaking fingers you text back, _~You know where I’ll be.~_ You keep the phone in hand as you take the path to your bedroom. The room is empty when you get there and you’re relieved that you’ve made it first. You put the phone on the table and then quickly brush your teeth; pizza breath isn’t sexy… even if Dean did just kiss you despite that. You fuss in the mirror for a moment and then come out and strip down to just a t-shirt before sitting on the edge of the bed. Waiting sucks and you’re a mess. You bet that’s what Sam wants. He is such a tease, a wonderful tease. You grab the pillow that smells like him and hug it,  closing your eyes and inhaling deeply. You don’t immediately notice the figure now standing at your door.

 Sam is as silent as a cat and you feel him before you see him, that unexplained pull like a line being tugged, clueing you in on his location. Your eyes remain closed and you don’t move as Sam closes the door. You hear his feet whisper on the floor until he’s standing in front of you. He doesn’t speak. He just waits. You have a feeling he will be much more patient than you ever could be so your eyes slowly open and there is Sam Winchester. The light from the bedside lamp glints off the moisture that’s still beaded on his body and a towel wrapped around his waist is all that covers him. Sam is magnificent. His muscles lean and well defined, his skin made golden in the lamplight, his hair slicked back and still wet from his shower, and his eyes shining with lust as they lance you to the core. The anticipation has been so heavy and torturous that you feel like Sam is a god standing before you, a god that you’ve always wished to worship, touch, and please.

 Without thinking, the pillow is tossed on the bed and your hands grip his sides, pulling him towards you. Your tongue glides up the curve of his hipbone and you hear him moan softly. He tastes sweet and fresh, and the feel of his warm smooth skin is delicious. Your fingers have a mind of their own and Sam’s towel falls to the floor at his feet before you realize what you’ve done. He looks painfully hard and Sam sucks in a breath when your hand closes around the base of his cock. You glide along his skin and then wrap your lips around the tip. Sam is warm but your mouth is warmer and you revel in the taste of him as your lips skim down his shaft until he’s deep inside. Sam’s spine curls and his head bows to watch, his hair falling in wet strings around his chiseled features, those green orbs drinking in the sight of you swallowing him. Your eyes lock on his as you slowly slide him in and out. His jaw clenches, his fingers snake up into your hair, the veins in his arms twitching at the overwhelming sensation of your mouth on him.

 He’s holding back again. You can feel it and you don’t want that. You want him to unleash, you want to feel unbridled Sam, so you attack him hard and impassioned. You lick and suck, your breath coming in short panting gasps as you take him in and out of you at a fevered pace. You use every trick you know and even some techniques you have no idea where you learned them from, as you work at pushing him over the edge. Both of his hands are clutched in your hair and Sam’s head hangs back like he’s looking to heaven in thanks as you bob in a relentless rhythm. His breath turns ragged and then he lets out a low moan with barely intelligible words “I’m…. going… to….” He doesn’t finish the sentence because his words turn into a loud growl as he curls in, gripping you tight as he releases hot and hard into your mouth. It takes all you have to keep up with the force of Sam, swallowing being your only option, but you manage. Then your lips slide from his member and you marvel at yourself. You just pleased a god. You slide your tongue up his sensitive shaft one last time while your hand releases its grip, and then Sam stands there, untouched.

 Your eyes run up his body and he is wrecked, and good God he is fucking beautiful as he stands there with his chest heaving, his eyes closed in revelry. For a moment you regret what you’ve done because now he’s spent and you are still quivering with pent up need but that feeling vanishes when Sam comes alive in the space of a breath. Without warning he firmly presses you onto your back and his mouth envelops yours in sloppy, hungry kisses. Unbridled Sam is suffocating and wonderful as you gasp for air, and then each of his hands grabs a fistful of your shirt and with brute force Sam tears it in half, exposing your heaving breasts. It’s violent and sexy as fuck. Before you can even think of reacting, his mouth engulfs one breast while he grips the other firmly in his sizable hand. He’s attacking you and it’s glorious. You moan loud in appreciation as Sam flicks at your hardened nipple with his tongue, then again as his mouth encompasses your breast, taking it in and then releasing, and then repeating. He switches sides and you buck, sucking in air at the pleasure that’s coursing through your body, electric tingles from his touch going straight to your sex.

 Sam’s fingers continue to roll your nipples as his mouth begins to work quickly down your body, his hair tickling your flesh as he goes. Then his hands trail down, following where his lips have just traveled. You shudder with desire when you feel his hot breath between your legs. Your hands grip the sheets as Sam’s tongue slides up the lips of your sex and then you’re gone, lost in the elation. He’s an expert and you gasp out pleasured moans as Sam laps, licks, and nibbles; his hair brushing against your inner thighs as he lavishes every inch of your quivering heat. Like a roll of thunder your climax builds and then crashes over you. It starts as a moan, soft and breathy and then builds to a crescendo, the volume rising with the wave of euphoria as one hand fists in his hair, your back arching, and every muscle in your body tenses with vivid ecstasy.

 Before you can even breathe again Sam’s tongue dives deep between your gasping lips and his revived cock is nudging at your entrance. You feel each hot inch as he glides inside you and your climax crashes over you again. “Oh God.” Sam breathes those words into your mouth as he throbs inside you. Hearing him speak causes a fresh wave of electric shivers and you thrust your tongue into his mouth like you’re trying to find more words. “Mmmm I swear you were built for sin…” Sam purrs, “And I’ve never been a good boy.” That confession shoots straight to your molten core. You need him so much and you writhe beneath him, clutching at his rigid muscles. He begins to thrust, hard, sharp stabs that make you gasp at his power and Sam props himself up on one long arm and his other hand threads into your hair and then he pulls. With each stroke he tugs at you while driving in deep and your eyes open to find him watching you, his eyes blazing with carnal hunger. His features are razor-sharp in the lamplight, his face almost angry as he claims you with salacious need. It’s elegant violence and you’re drowning in all things Sam, the world melting away to nothing with each possessive grunt.

 Time suspends and you forget to breathe as Sam continues his relentless assault. He is simultaneously hollowing you out and filling you up to overflowing. Your hand clutches at his rigid arm and you finally rake in a desperate breath. Sam’s fingers untangle from your hair and his palm kneads your jiggling breast as he moans low and sultry. Then in a sudden motion, Sam grabs you, pulling you up into his arms so you’re standing. His cock is still stuffed inside as he props your leg on the bed and he begins to curl his hips into you, holding you tight against him. The tattered remains of the t-shirt slide off onto the floor and Sam’s breath sends tendrils of pleasure to your core with each searing blast against your neck. Sam growls low and quiet against your skin and then his teeth clamp down, the painful pleasure of it sending fresh waves of euphoria through ever nerve.

 Sam is an unstoppable force and he shows no signs of letting up as he snaps, snaps, snaps his hips into you. He releases your neck and trails his lips up to find yours and his tongue intrudes, persistent and hungry. “Mmmmmm you taste,” Sam’s voice is low and reverent between dips of his tongue, “So good.” His hand is pressing against the back of your head, holding you prisoner as he explores your mouth. “And you feel,” A gentle snarl escapes Sam as he emphasizes his words by pounding deeper into you, “Divine.” Another mind-bending orgasm detonates deep within and your head lulls back, your body pliant in his strong arms as you ride the ripples of splendor. You hang limply in his embrace as Sam continues to infiltrate, emboldened by your enjoyment.

 “On your knees.” An order growled against your flesh as Sam suddenly stops his assault and you will not disobey because you belong to him and there is nothing in this world but Sam Winchester. You are swimming through a thick haze of elation and after another long play of tongues you peel yourself away from Sam and obey. You turn on the spot and the bed feels firm and sturdy as you sink onto your hands and knees. You breathe out loud and gratifying as Sam’s warm hand glides up your back and his cock gently pierces you again, hot and thick. He widens his stance and then, without preamble Sam gores you, dominating and powerful. His hands grip your hips with steady confidence as he submerges deep and then pulls back out so he can drive in again, and again, and again.

 You are still riding the high of multiple orgasms and Sam’s relentless pace is overwhelming, your body shaking with the intensity of his boundless lust. You gasp out short little chirps of pleasure as Sam drives home again and again and you moan with pleasured pain as he grabs your hair and pulls. Your head is forced back and your eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling as Sam purrs, “So beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” Everything melts away and there is only the rhythm, the strained grunts deep in Sam’s throat, the heat of his hand on you, the pull of his fingers in your hair, and the rapture of him splitting you with unyielding vigor. You feel Sam tensing, building to his zenith as he goes into a frenzied pace. Suddenly his hands grip your shoulders, every muscle a hard line as you feel Sam release inside you, an eruption punctuated by a feral roar from deep in his chest. You tense, rigid with indulgence as Sam rides the euphoria. You revel in it, clenching your sex around his throbbing cock as his grip tightens. Then his body goes pliant and Sam is gulping air as his forehead rests against your back.

 Sam’s spent member slides out and you collapse on the bed, puffing your own rhythm of recovery. Sam crumbles into bed, his body pressing against you as his lips find yours once again. His kisses are soft, and pious. His hand ghosts across your skin and Sam’s mouth gently massages yours, his tongue lightly stroking with reverence, worshiping you as you lay side by side. Again, you melt into him, his attention causing the glow within to warm every fiber of your being. Heaven. You wonder if heaven feels like this. Sam inhales deeply and then sighs out a single sentence, “That was worth the wait.” That’s the last thing you remember as you drift off to sleep, the beating of Sam’s heart a soft lullaby in your ear.

<<< >>>

It’s long past sunset and the street lamps and security lighting from nearby parking lots is the only thing keeping the darkness at bay as you hurry, your pace brisk. You round the corner of a familiar building. Distracted, you aren’t paying attention, and you unexpectedly hit a shadowy figure in your path full force. The stranger snarls and his eyes are shining red, like pools of blood. Blood. Blood everywhere. Sticky and warm, the bitter metallic smell invading your nose as the snarling man shatters something against your chest. A little vial filled with a glowing blue substance. He grinds it into your flesh; the pain pierces into every fiber of your body. And there is blood, warm and crimson gushing from the man’s hand, his eyes, mouth, and nose. You feel it soak your shirt, running down your body in a warm current. You hear it drip onto the pavement. Everything is so loud. Each drip is a loud slap as it splashes down on the pavement, every breath from the shadowy man a shattering growl. Terror clutches your soul.

 Beside you is a naked man with a crazed grin stretched across his blood soaked face, fountains of red pour down his face and spurt grotesquely from a jagged gash across his neck. He’s laughing; a deep wicked cackle as the blue substance suddenly blazes bright, setting everything into stark relief. The light splashes a shape onto the wall behind the smiling man, a dark shadow that looks like wings sprouting from his back, and his eyes blaze the same blue as the vial. In front of you the red-eyed man is melting, all definition of him pooling into a coagulated stream of blood that is raging against gravity up into your chest. The blood on you begins to burn as the smiling man speaks strange words through the gargle of his mangled windpipe. The sticky red liquid blisters against your flesh and sizzles as it slides up your body and seeps into your chest. Your heart is like a black hole; sucking in everything around you, the blue light, the shadows, the sounds, the blood. Everything is pulling into you with a searing pain and just when you feel that you can’t take any more, everything is suddenly silent and still. This lasts for a single breath and then with a shattering burst, power explodes from your core and everything evaporates into a blinding white echoing silence.

 You stand there in the empty space, wrapped in a quiet oppressive white nothing. You feel trapped, claustrophobic despite the lack of anything but yourself, and then it turns cold. Bitter cold and you curl into yourself, shivering with renewed horror. It starts out quiet, barely audible; your name whispered on lips curled with mischief. Your name is repeated, over and over like the beating of a heart with it’s rhythm, growing in volume until it’s a resounding boom that fills up the empty space. Like a giant fist pounding on a colossal door it shakes the very air. Then silence again and the light begins to dim and as it fades to blackness you hear that whispered voice speak again. “Let me out.” It’s smooth and melodic and you hear the arrogance in it. This voice isn’t pleading, or asking, it’s a flat statement, a sentence of what you WILL do. There is no way you could ever begin to struggle against the resolute power of that voice. You shiver against the escalating cold as it repeats, “Let me out” The words reverberating through the fibers of your very existence. “Let me out.” All is black now and the feeling of claustrophobia is suffocating as the winter seeps into your very core. You feel like you are buried and trapped inside a frigid prison, a cage; yes a cage without bars and you can’t find air. You can’t breathe. You… can’t… breathe…

<<< >>>

You come off the bed, dragging in a sharp desperate drought of air. Everything is dark but you’re in the bunker, in your room, in your bed. Sam’s eyes are just as wild as yours as he clutches at you. “Hey. Hey?” He fights to lock eyes with you, “It’s ok. It’s over. I’m here. Talk to me.” It seems like he’s been trying to wake you from the nightmare but you aren’t sure. He brushes your hair from your face and wipes away a tear you didn’t know had fallen. You’re crying. Why are you crying? Why? Your mind is in disarray, trying to process and differentiate reality from dream. Why is it dark? You shudder at the darkness and you’re cold. You shrink in against Sam’s body and he feels safe and warm. He wraps his arms around you tight, his cheek resting atop your head as he tries to soothe you. “It was just a dream ok? You’re ok. Shhhh. It’ll be all right. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” You feel like a child as he does this but in the best way possible. He is comforting and warm and he is Sam. You sob loudly into his shoulder with reckless abandon, the gut wrenching terror slowly melting away as you do. It takes a while but you finally calm down and your sobs turn into little hiccups of emotion instead of soul rending howls of fright. Sam continues to hold you, always so patient. Finally he asks, “Wanna talk about it?” It was similar to your dreams from the previous night but this time so much more intense and commanding. No, no you don’t want to talk about it so you bury yourself deeper into his embrace and sob out a pathetic no. You have no sense of time in the dark but it feels like the wee hours of the morning and you are so tired. Sam manages to calm you enough that you settle back down into bed and drift off to sleep once more, his warm body a comfort against your back, his hand a reassuring weight on your side.


	6. Chapter 6

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You wake up alone and after wiping the sleep from your eyes you see the room shows no evidence of last night’s activities, no Sam, no wet towel, no destroyed t-shirt. Your thoughts are stuffed full of sleepy cotton candy but you fondly remember last night with Sam, warmth spreading deep inside at the memory. Then you cringe at the freshly remembered nightmare that happened after that and suddenly you are cold, so cold. You try to move past it by focusing on how Sam felt pressed against you, how his body was like a well-tended fire, safe and comforting. You begin to relax and cling to that thought so you don’t backtrack to the more frightening things. Doing so helps you cope enough to get out of bed and brush your teeth, then wrap yourself in the bed sheet so you can head to the shower. You pad down the silent halls, hands full of your shirt/skirt combo and a fresh towel, always courtesy of the ever-thoughtful Sam. The shower room is empty and the feel of the hot water on your skin helps thaw a little of the chilled terror that’s lurking deep inside.

 You get dressed, fix your hair and as you head towards the galley Sam is in the hallway when you turn the corner just past your room. He scoops you into a warm embrace and kisses the top of your head. “How are you?” Sam’s touch and Sam’s voice give you a sudden flood of relief. Maybe it’s because you were just a little too alone before now, or perhaps you’re still battling against the nightmare, or a bit of both, but you are suddenly ok, and that’s what you tell him; that you’re doing ok. He accepts that short answer without further questions and then accompanies you to the kitchen. Sam sticks around while you eat a hearty bowl of Corporal Crunch and you take the time available to talk about the research you worked on the day before. When done with breakfast you both head to the library so you can show him, all the while hoping that your research was not all for nothing and that there will be something useful.

 Sam sits next to you in the library, his long leg pressed against yours as he goes through the stack of tagged books on the table. Each time you show him a noted page he nods and then explains how it’s not useful. He’s delicate about the process and you know he’s trying everything in his power to not be insulting or make you feel bad for finding information he already knows. You really appreciate that, but you can’t help but get more discouraged as you go along. Just as Sam grabs another book from the stack, this one being the large black tome with gold accents that you first looked at the other day, Dean hops up the stairs and strolls into the room. Sam’s leg suddenly disappears from yours, the electric tingles leaving with it, and it feels cold now.

 “Of course I’d find you here.” Dean is cheerfully matter-of-fact as he flashes you a charming grin, “I see he’s got you roped into research already this morning.” Sam ignores his brother and turns to the book in his hand as you give Dean a big smiling hello and when your eyes meet Dean’s, the attraction is palpable between you. A good night’s sleep has invigorated him and you have the impression that Dean would like nothing more than to wear himself out on you right now. His words say otherwise though as he strides over and plops down opposite you, “Well I guess there’s no time like the present, so let’s buckle down and see what we can dig up.”

 Sam stops reading and fixes his gaze on Dean. “Before we do that, I think we better hear about her little nightmare last night.” Sam gestures in your general direction and you shrink into your chair. “I’m pretty sure it was no ordinary nightmare.” His tone is weighted with concern and when he turns to you; his puppy dog eyes are etched with caring and laced with a need to be forgiven for putting you on the spot. “Please. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t exactly a typical nightmare for you.”

 Dean’s face shifts through several emotions quickly, surprise, suspicion, jealousy, something else, and then stops on interested concern. You can feel his wheels turning behind that façade, probably trying to figure out how Sam knows about this little happening. “A nightmare?” He leans forward in his chair, hands folded on the table in front of him. This is not the kind of attention you like and you really don’t want to talk about your dream but Sam asked so therefore you will comply. You recount your nightmare, giving as much detail as you can. You explain that it started out just like that night when they found you but it was twisted and so much more vivid, gruesome, and terrifying. You explain how there was so much blood, fountains of it, oceans of it. You make sure to describe the freakish angel with his wings of shadow and his strange gargled words.

 “Do you remember the words?” Sam leans forward as he interrupts, “Do you remember what the angel said?” Sam is hanging on your every word. You nod affirmation and then speak them with a shudder. “Gon Fam NaHath Drun?” As Sam repeats them, your eyes drop and you shrink into yourself, feeling the cold dread and terror you’ve been controlling start to well up inside. The appearance of Sam’s warm hand on your leg is an instant comfort. It’s like a barrier has been put between you and the cold darkness of memory, and because of his touch you feel better. You follow the line of his arm up to those beautiful green eyes filled with concern and you will him, through that ever-present connection, to know that you are thankful for everything he’s done. A gentle smile pulls at his lips; recognition of message received and then he asks softly, “Is there anything else? I’m sorry but we need to hear everything.” You take a breath and then continue, telling them how after that, everything seemed to suck into your core and then explode into quiet nothing. You hug yourself, eyes never leaving the floor as you begin to describe the white cage that fades to black.

 “Cage?” Dean interrupts your story by parroting your words as a question. You nod, saying that it’s the only way you can think of to describe it even though there were no bars or walls. Dean’s eyes go wide for moment and then he leans back heavily in his chair and remains silent, letting you finish the tale. You mention the voice that told you what to do and how it stole your breath away with frozen power, finally waking you up. Dean runs his hand down his face, features etched with apprehension as he locks eyes with Sam. “You don’t think….” He doesn’t finish that sentence. It seems like he’s afraid to finish it, like saying it out loud will make things so much worse. Sam loudly expels air through his nose, his lips tight with unease and he doesn’t finish Dean’s sentence either, he just says, “yeah.” Your insides are knotted up with uncertain fear. It was just a dream… wasn’t it? What is going on? Your fear comes crashing back over you despite Sam’s reassuring hand. These guys have seen a lot of shit in their time and if this worries them… well that cannot be a good thing, ever, but what are they worried about? You don’t understand.

 “Here’s something else. We’ve been going over these books and I think she found something important.” Sam nods to the black book with gold ink in front of him. “Listen…” Sam leans forward and pauses, reading silently while leaving you hanging in suspense.

 “Sammy?” Dean is trying to be patient when Sam doesn’t start reading, but he isn’t the patient type. “Sammy!” Sam breaks away from the book and looks at Dean. “Care to share with the class?” Dean’s voice is threaded with annoyance as he gestures to the room in general.

 “Yeah.” Another pause as Sam looks back at the book, unfazed by Dean’s attitude. “Yeah. Right here.” Sam taps the book and looks up, his face a mix of triumph and worry. “Remember the demon we questioned yesterday? The one Cas caught. He said something about how this was too big for even the Winchester’s and then something about how the door is almost open?” Sam directs his questions to Dean, obviously referring to what happened while out on the case, and Dean nods in affirmation. “Well if her dream is more than just a dream and if it’s somehow connected, then this may be it. It says here, **~When the four united descend, and evil rests, it shall not be named thy end. He who is decreed, wielding the light above and the ashen river below shall be ordained the gatekeeper of the gilded cage.~** ” Sam lets the book drop onto the table as he sits back. Both of the brothers have an indecipherable look on their face as they stare at the text before them.

 You have no idea what any of that means and Dean looks like he’s struggling to piece it together as well. Obviously Sam has sorted this out a lot quicker so you ask for clarification before Dean does and you secretly think Dean is grateful for it. Sam quietly answers, “In short, this is bad. If I’m right, if your dream is right, if this is right, those demons are trying to unlock the pit, the cage that’s holding Lucifer.” Your eyes practically fall out of your head at that bombshell and you let out a strangled what the fuck, you mean the devil? A sad smile pulls at Sam’s face, like he’s trying to lighten the mood or tell the bad news in a good way when he continues with, “Couple of years ago, we,” He gestures to Dean who’s face shows that he is fully caught up on where Sam is going with this, “kinda stopped the apocalypse.” He watches for a reaction from you but all you can do is sit in stunned silence, listening. “We threw Lucifer into the pit and locked the door behind him. We thought there was only one way to open it which is ~when the four united descend~ but apparently we were wrong.” Sam shifts his eyes from you to Dean and then back.

 Everything is silent for a moment, everyone letting that soak in and then, “Damn it!” Dean pounds his fist on the table and stands up, “Always has to be something.” He punches the air in frustration and then pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling Cas. That crap in her dream sounds Enochian and he’s our local translator.” Dean slowly saunters down the steps and begins pacing in the control room while the phone calls whoever this Cas person is. Dean can see you from where he paces but apparently Sam doesn’t care as he pulls you from the chair and wraps his arms around you, offering the comfort of his embrace. You don’t care if Dean sees either, because you snuggle in and cling to him like he’s your anchor to reality.

 “I’m sorry you got dragged into all this. We’ll figure this out and make it right.” He pulls away enough to give you a half-hearted smile and then he pulls you back in tight, “We may not look it, but we kinda know what we’re doing.” You smile into his shirt and then release him, stepping back and straightening your spine in determination, determination to not be scared shitless. You want to be strong for Sam, and for Dean, so you nod in acknowledgment and then proceed to not be scared shitless, sort of.

 “Well get your feathered ass over here and help me understand.” Dean doesn’t sound pleased as he clomps up the stairs while mashing the ‘end’ button on his phone. “Well Cas says it’s definitely Enochian and it means… ah hell, it didn’t make any sense to me. I swear he does that just to jerk me around.”

 There is a sound like wind through wings and then Dean jumps at the presence that suddenly materializes uncomfortably close to his side. “I have not jerked you at all Dean.” A man has appeared out of thin air and Dean gives him an instinctual bitchface, like this is a common occurrence. You don’t react to this sudden appearance; you don’t know how to react when a person suddenly pops up out of nowhere. This stranger speaks in a gravely deadpan voice and he looks like a salesman; a decent suit tucked under a tan trench coat that drapes haphazardly off his shoulders and his tie is backwards, taking away from his credibility just a little bit. His expression is one of bland disconnection but when his eyes lock on you, those blue oceans lay your soul bare. You feel naked in front of him, like there are no secrets you can hide and you recognize that he is more than a man. You aren’t sure what he is but it feels vaguely familiar and you are unsettled by it.

 You step back and stop when you press against the mountain known as Sam. He puts his hand on your shoulder, warm tingles relaxing you as he introduces the newcomer. “This is Castiel. He’s an angel and he’s here to help, I promise.” Sam’s proximity is the only thing keeping you from bolting. The only angel that you have ever met was naked and dying and in your dream he was fierce and terrible and all in all, you don’t have a good opinion regarding angels after what you’ve been through. However, you feel like politeness is your best option at this point, so you quietly say hi and introduce yourself, although you suspect he already knows your name.

 “Hello.” It’s a flat statement more than a greeting from him. After a moment of staring intently at you his eyes shift back to Dean and he explains, “Enable the acquisition of the life from within. That is the closest translation I can give you.”

 Dean eyeballs Castiel and then folds his arms across his chest, refusing to give up his spot on the floor, like he’s challenging Cas to ‘king of the mountain’ since he continues to heavily encroach on Dean’s personal space. “Saying it over again for everyone to hear doesn’t make that translation any clearer Cas.” Dean’s flat tone and attitude towards Cas is sending you mixed signals. You can tell there is something between them. A fondness that is deep and profound and familiar but yet Dean also seems on edge around Castiel, like he isn’t completely comfortable with their friendship. You can’t blame him though, you aren’t comfortable with Castiel either but you are pretty sure it’s for completely different reasons.

 Cas stares back at Dean and then shifts one step back, apparently reading Dean’s silent challenge for that space. “Would it clarify to tell you it sounds like part of an incantation? The wording suggests it is meant to give someone the power to open a great door or to release a great power but I would need the rest of the words in order to be certain.” Castiel is addressing Dean but his gaze keeps shifting to you, making you uncomfortable. “Does this have to do with the sect of demons we killed yesterday?” You cringe at the word ‘kill’.

 “Yeah.” Dean relaxes a little bit now that the angel is no longer invading his personal bubble, “So. Could that crap mean gatekeeper by chance?” Castiel stares at Dean for a long minute before he answers.

 “It’s a loose interpretation but yes, it may be referring to a gatekeeper. I don’t like riddles Dean. Please stop ‘beating around the bush’ and tell me what you’ve found.” Castiel talks so strangely and saying ‘beating around the bush’ sounds even more unnatural coming from him, like he’s still growing accustomed to speaking words of any kind.

 “Shit.” Dean declares loudly as Sam’s grip tightens on your shoulder, “Sam? You thinking what I’m thinking?” You can’t see it but you feel him nod in agreement. Cas shifts his eyes from one brother to the other, his placid face morphing into confusion as he tilts his head to one side, like a puppy.

 Dean obviously knows that look and proceeds to explain. “We think that means this lovely lady is the gatekeeper to the pit.” Dean walks towards you as he gestures, almost like you’re on display and he’s describing your retail value. Castiel’s expression never changes as his eyes follow Dean and then move to you. “The major crap that happened a couple nights back… well she’s the innocent one caught smack dab in the middle of it.”

 “I don’t understand.” Castiel straightens his neck but his face still shows innocent confusion, like a small child working through a math problem.

 Sam begins to explain with enthusiasm, “Cas, we think she ran into a spell that night, like, literally ran into it. It all adds up. ‘ **the decreed, wielding the light above and the ashen river below shall be ordained the gatekeeper of the gilded cage’.** It’s describing a spell.” Sam’s hand disappears from your shoulder as he gets a little animated while he continues on, piecing it all together as he talks. “One where you need the light above…”

 “An angel’s grace. The cupid.” Dean chimes in, matching Sam’s enthusiasm.

 “Exactly!” Sam affirms, his focus on Dean as he continues, “Which was shattered into her, and then the ashen river below could mean the blood or essence of a demon, and I’m betting there was blood.” Sam shifts his attention to you. “Your dream certainly says there was blood and considering how traumatic that experience was, your mind could have easily blocked a detail like that from your original memory of that night.” Sam runs his hand through his hair, “Both components were there so…” Sam lets out a loud breath and then plucks the book from the table and starts skimming the text.

 Dean picks up where Sam trailed off, “So the decreed part? The ‘Gon Fam NaHath Drun’ crap, that would be the incantation? …or at least part of it?”. Dean’s gaze goes from Sam who nods yes to Cas who just listens as Dean keeps rolling. “That demon was smack in the middle of making himself the gatekeeper, but little miss unlucky over here musta screwed up his plans.” Dean turns his attention to you now, meaning everyone in the room is staring at you when he says, “He accidently made you the Gatekeeper and got his ass vaporized for his troubles.” Dean smirks at the irony before continuing, “And now we know what the demon at Bigerson’s was looking for. I guess he didn’t know who or what a Gatekeeper was and didn’t realize he was looking for you. Well he was looking for you but I mean you you…” Dean sputters, trying to clarify, “Not something you had.” Then his tone turns sarcastic, “Boy that’s a scary bunch of brainiacs. Looks like those demons don’t even know how the hell all this works. Awesome.”

 Sam cuts in, “Here’s something else. **‘Hence the sacrifices four shall be laid before the false throne and behold, the great key shall come unto you upon a broken frame and the consummation shall lay bare the gilded cage’**.” Sam scans the room, and then goes back to the book.

 Dean is incredulous as he asks, “Wait? If that means what I think it does then is it just me or does all of this sound way too much like Ghostbusters?” His eyebrow is raised, his stance defensive as he looks around.

 “I believe that would be an accurate comparison Dean; except, when the key and the gatekeeper consummate I believe it will open the door for Lucifer, not Gozer.” The angel is so matter of fact that it shocks everyone. Sam looks up from his book, eyebrows raised and Dean just stares at Cas and blinks. A chuckle rolls out of you before you can stop it. All eyes turn to you as you try in vain to choke back another giggle. You can’t help it. This is all one hundred percent heavy, terrifying levels of life altering bad; but it’s also fucking ridiculous, and to hear this strange man, this angel, agree that life is just like a movie, Ghostbusters no less, its’ just too much for you to handle. Dean’s chest pushes out, hands going onto his hips as he gives you a bitchface, apparently Dean doesn’t like being laughed at. Cas just stares and you catch a glimpse of Sam swallowing a smile before he shifts so the book hides his expression from everyone.

 “Is that funny because that film is classified as a comedy?” Castiel’s eyebrows are scrunched in confusion. His expression, deadpan voice, and that question just add to the absurdity of it all and it becomes harder to stifle your laugh as you shake your head no to that insane inquiry. Suddenly Sam chuckles, loud enough for everyone to hear. You’re so glad he sees the humor in this too and you’re even more relieved when Dean suddenly cracks, a huge grin spreading across his face as he begins to laugh. The tension in the room melts away as everyone laughs; everyone except Castiel, he doesn’t laugh, but you’re pretty sure that’s normal. He just stands there looking at everyone like they’ve lost their minds.

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Things quiet down after that and Dean and Cas wander off to who knows where to talk about who knows what, leaving you and Sam in the library. Sam’s leg is back to being pressed firmly up against yours and he’s wearing those puppy dog eyes again as he looks at you. “You seem to be handling this pretty well, I’m a little surprised. You sure you’re doing alright?” You don’t want to sound corny and say you’re being strong for him and Dean. You also don’t want to sound like a child and say that inside you’re screaming in terror and are curled in the fetal position wondering if normal will ever be a word you can use again, so you settle on something along the lines of not having a lot of choice other than to calmly deal with what’s happening because you can’t run from something like this, so you will accept it and do what you can with what you have. You surprise yourself with that speech, it doesn’t really sound like you, or does it? Who knows because you’ve never been in this situation before but you sound so sure of what you can handle, which you find impressive and so does Sam. He nudges you gently with his shoulder as he quips, “You’ve certainly shown that you really can handle it.” Sam gives you a sideways grin and you catch the double entendre and giggle because despite the seriousness of all this, those electric tingles have continued to torment you every time Sam has touched you. He chuckles too and then shocks you when he leans in for a kiss. It’s soothing and warm and then it’s gone and so is the proximity of his leg as Sam suddenly starts staring at the book in front of him. That’s when you hear Dean’s footsteps as he climbs the stairs to the library and you know why Sam stopped.

 You give Dean a sheepish smile and he hesitates before returning it, like he’s too busy studying you to smile, but then corrects himself. That’s a little unsettling but only for a moment, because that attraction is back when you look at him and you easily brush off the unease and it looks like Dean does the same. “Cas is off to look into some stuff for us and this is the part where we leave Sammy alone so he can concentrate on research. Trust me when I say he gets into it.” He slaps Sam on the shoulder with a grin and finishes with, “Like the time he went a week without showering because he was ‘in the zone’.” Dean’s air quotes make you smile, “Man he reeked.” Sam does not look pleased at Dean’s story but you continue to smile because you know Dean is just taking a stab at his little bro because he can. “It’s alright Sammy, you’re just misunderstood.” Dean goads him with a chuckle and then stands in front of you and gestures, “Come on, we’ll give him some peace and quiet.” He offers you his hand and you hesitate for just a moment, looking to Sam who gives you a strained smile and a little nod. Did you just silently ask Sam for permission to go with Dean? You slide your hand into Dean’s and ponder on that as you head out of the library.

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You spend the remainder of the morning with Dean and its pretty fun. You mostly just hang out on the sofa and chat with the tv playing quietly in the background. Dean is such good company and you end up talking about anything and everything; entertainment, music, societal woes, and Dean regales you with some funny hunting stories that he obviously likes to tell whenever he’s given the chance. The nightmares followed by the revelations of the morning were pretty intense but they begin to fade and Dean is grounding you, slowly making everything ok. You notice that no matter what, Dean is touching you in some way, any chance he gets. Not grabby pervy stuff; touching like, a gentle hand on your knee, his leg against yours, a gentle squeeze on your shoulder when he walks past you to get a drink from the mini-fridge. You wonder if Dean feels the same electric tingles that you do every time you touch, if he experiences that insatiable pull between you as it gets stronger with every minute that passes. You suspect he does because you can see the lust, pooling deep in those emerald eyes of his, but he doesn’t make a move and that kinda surprises you. Considering how hot and heavy you both were the other day and the fact that he obviously isn’t the type to hold back, he’s being strangely reserved. He isn’t tormenting you wonderfully with it like Sam does, it’s different, like he’s afraid… wait, afraid isn’t really a good word for Dean… hmmm, perhaps unsure is a better term. Yes, Dean seems unsure of something and you are just as unsure of what to do about it.

 When midday rolls around you move to the galley and help Dean make lunch and unlike Sam, he lets you help and it’s nice. It becomes a fun little game between you two. The kitchen is pretty big but you both keep finding reasons to bump into each other or invade each other’s space so those electric tingles shoot to your core and you notice Dean needing to shift his stance more than once when you touch him because his jeans suddenly become to constricting. It’s very enjoyable and Dean begins to loosen up, that apprehension that’s been in the background fading away. Also, Dean is quite a ham, showing off his mastery of knives when he slices the tomato and onion which makes you smile, and you chuckle at him when he gets all fussy about properly seasoning the meat for the hamburgers. He’s so frickin adorable, you can’t help but admire his gorgeous face, and every time he turns his back you can’t help but check out that delicious ass of his.

 Most everything is ready and you’re drying your hands when Dean suddenly gives your butt a nice little smack. You yelp in surprise and shoot him a salacious grin. He gives you a wink that is way sexier than it should be and then he goes back to keeping an eye on the burgers. “You better go get Sam or he’ll be a pouty little bastard for days because we’ve left him out.” You both chuckle as you agree to track him down and you can’t help but steal one more lingering look at Dean as he starts to whistle Cheap Trick’s ‘I Want You to Want Me’ while he stands there watching the stove.

 You swear that song was Dean extending you an invitation and you’re feeling pretty amazing while heading straight for the library where Sam will likely be. Sure enough, there he is with his nose stuffed in that black book with the gold ink. Sam looks dead sexy as he sits there studying. He kinda looks beautiful no matter what he’s doing and you can’t help but enjoy the view as you approach him. There’s no way you could ever sneak up on Sam but that doesn’t mean you can’t surprise him in other ways. You come up behind him and start to massage his shoulders as a distraction, and then you lean in to nibble on his neck, gnawing gently on his collarbone. Sam moans in appreciation and then turns his head so your lips meet and he threads his fingers in your hair, his way of saying don’t stop to quickly. For a long moment all you do is kiss Sam, long and indulgent, then you pull away and whisper against his cheek that lunch is ready, before you step back so he can stand up. In a smooth fluid motion he stands and envelopes you, his body curling around you as his tongue dives between your lips and again you vanish into the feel of Sam.

 Sam is the one who finally pulls away, leaving you a hot wreck. He’s pretty good at doing that. You see the strain it takes him, just like before, as he crams his hands in his pockets and then flashes you a villainous smile as he walks past you towards the galley. Oh that wicked, wicked man. So tortuous and you love every moment of it because you see that promise of ‘later’ sparkling in his eyes and you know you won’t be sleeping alone tonight.

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Lunch is interesting. The boys sit across from you like always but each one has a leg kicked forward so they’re touching you and neither one knows the other is doing it. The attention is magnificent and you’re feeling impish with both brothers tucked up against you secretly, but it’s so unfair because they seem to experience the same delicious sensations as you but handle it better than you ever could. In your own defense you do have double the pleasure and you can barely keep up with the conversation. You finally just give up and try to focus on chewing and giving a nod and smile here and there. Dean’s eyes run up and down you intermittently and he gives you a drop dead sexy smile when Sam gets up to grab extra napkins. Sam is just as bad, fucking you with his eyes whenever the opportunity arises and by the time lunch is over you are so wound up that you’re balanced on the edge of the precipice and it wouldn’t take much to tumble over into bliss.

 “Well I’m going back to the books. I think I found something but I need to cross-reference it before I’m sure.” You half-heartedly offer to help Sam when he says that. You like the thought of being near him but you know deep down that you would be worthless in your current state. You’re pretty sure Sam knows that when he smirks, “Nah, it’s ok. I got this. It’s the really boring part and not much fun at all. Just stop by if you get tired of this jerk.” He thumbs in Dean’s direction.

 “Get outta here bitch.” Dean’s smile is warm and genuine as he insults his brother back. Sam chuckles and runs his hand down your arm as he passes, locking eyes with you for a moment before heading out the galley door. That moment contained a silent message, permission. Sam Winchester just gave you permission to do what you want with his big brother and somehow that amps up Sam’s hotness rating to unimaginable levels. Sam really is silent as a cat because you can feel him moving further away but you can’t hear his footsteps once he leaves the room, impressive. “Ugh. Dishes, I fucking hate dishes.” Dean is scowling at the mess you both made from lunch and you offer to help him wash because the more the merrier. He brightens at that offer, like suddenly dishes aren’t such a bad idea. Dean pops a stick of gum in his mouth and offers you one, which you gladly accept. Dean slides off his long sleeve shirt and throws it on a clean section of countertop nearby and then goes about filling the sink with sudsy water, you can’t help but stare. Dean is gorgeous and you know how firm and wonderful his body feels, and Dean’s t-shirt is barely hiding the lines of his muscles as he works. The urge to touch him, to make him moan, and to feel him against you suddenly becomes overwhelming and you don’t fight it.

 You come up behind him and gently smooth his thin t-shirt down his back. He goes still as you slide your hands back up and then down again. He is hot to the touch and you feel the tension in his muscles, that unexplained connection between you communicating that he’s been holding back far longer than he ever wanted too. You run your hands up and then down once more and this time one of your hands changes trajectory and runs around Dean’s hip until you’re massaging the bulge that is straining against his zipper.

 “Oh yeah”, Dean breathes out heavy. Your other hand rests on his chest and you feel his pulse skyrocket as you press your breasts up against his back and your cheek nestles between his shoulder blades. You don’t really pay attention to how long you stand there, tormenting him, listening to his moans, but after a time you unbutton his jeans. Your hand explores deep into that cotton cave and you find Dean’s stiffened cock thick and ready. “Damn girl, you had me hard at hello this morning.” Dean’s sigh of enjoyment vibrates his chest as your fingers stroke up and down his length. He grips the edge of the sink and his knees bend into your movements, his head tilting back as you continue to tease. God this is torture. It’s so fucking fun to watch him melt at your touch, and you don’t want him to shut up but you want those lips on you and his hands claiming you, so you wrap your fist around his cock and use it guide him, making him slowly release the sink and turn around to face you. Dean rests his forehead on yours for a moment, drinking in the sight of your hand on his shaft and then he attacks.

 Dean’s tongue thrusts inside before your lips even touch and he steals the moan away from you as he claims your mouth hard and emblazoned. You release him so your hands can slide up his back, your nails gently digging into his shoulder blades as he pulls you in tight. Dean’s hand on your ass gives him extra leverage when he grinds his bare crotch against your skirt. His tongue explores deep and he snags the gum out of your mouth before you even remember it’s there. He turns and spits it in the sink and then dives back into you with a growl. That was surprising, a tiny bit gross, and really fucking hot! Your legs go wobbly as Dean consumes you, your body yielding to his hunger.

 Dean’s hand grips your breast and he thumbs your nipple into a hardened pebble despite the shirt and bra in the way. “God you’re amazing.” His hands roam your body in a frenzy, and when he slides his hand up your inner thigh and his fingers brush your sex, your knees buckle at the pleasure that courses through your entire body. “Mmmmm you like that?” You’re wet and quivering when Dean pushes your panties to the side and he slides a finger deep inside. “Oh fuck girl, you’re ready to go. You want me don’t you?” Dean suckles at your bottom lip while he slides his finger in and out, “Make you hot and wet don’t I?” You cling to him, enraptured by the sensation. Dean curls in and bites your neglected nipple through the two layers of fabric and now you have a matching pair as you throw your head back and gasp to the ceiling. You feel Dean’s hot breath through your shirt as he comes back up and runs his tongue up your neck and nibbles on your chin before sliding his tongue back between your waiting lips, his finger never ceasing it’s entry below. “I bet. You were hot. For me. The minute you saw. Me this morning. Weren’t you?” Dean’s sentence is broken by his ceaseless need to explore your mouth.

 Dean’s words continue to stir that molten pool in your core and you’re compelled to show him just how much you want him. You abruptly pull away, grabbing his wrist so that no part of him is inside and you walk backwards, pulling him with you. You snag his long sleeve shirt from the counter and once you get to the middle of the room you give him a salacious grin and point to the floor, the connection between you giving him all the explanation he needs. Dean is on the floor in no time after grabbing his shirt from your hand. He balls it up and puts it under his head and then he keeps his arms tucked behind his head as a wickedly dirty grin spreads across his face.

 You’re on the floor straddling Dean before you can count to three and while the floor is not the best on your knees, the sight of Dean lying there hard and ready keeps you from caring. You sit on his calves so you can curl in and take his cock in one swift swallow. “Jesus Christ.” Dean hisses and bucks at the pleasure, his hands jerking out from under his head. You pull your lips up and off with a bit of a pop for emphasis, only wanting to have him nice and lubed and you see him admiring your indecent grin. You sit up long enough to strip off your shirt and rid yourself of your bra and then you crawl up his body. “Yeah. Come’ ere.”  Dean’s voice is low and sultry right before your lips press against his, and you push your panties to one side and guide his heavy cock to your entrance. You slowly sit, feeling every hot inch as it glides in deep. “Holy God Nnnngh.” Dean bites his lip and his eyes roll back, both of you hold still for a moment as he clenches through the euphoria.

 You smile wickedly as you slowly start to move up and down, a torturous pace for both of you, but you can’t help but revel in how wrecked Dean is. His chest is heaving and his eyes are glazed as he stares up at you with insatiable lust, and that alone is almost enough to push you over the edge as you continue with a slow rhythm. What finally does send you spiraling is when Dean threads his fingers into your hair and pulls you to him so he can slide his tongue between your lips and whisper your name into your mouth with a sigh as he lifts his hips to meet your downward glide. You gasp and pull away from the kiss, putting your cheek against his as you focus on Dean’s pelvis continuing to pound upward into your sex. Your orgasm hits hard and it is ecstasy, your thoughts turning to blank blinding bliss as he holds you tight and thrusts harder into you, “That’s right, you fucking cum hard for me.” Dean grunts into your ear as your strangled breath warms his cheek. Your fingers constrict, grasping for something to hold but finding only cold hard floor as you ride the nirvana of Dean’s power.

 “Jesus fuck you’re so hot.” Dean bites out those words as he pulls you in tight and rolls. Suddenly Dean is on top and you finally rake in a gasping breath only to have it stolen by Dean’s enthusiastic lips. “You feel so Goddamn good.“ He’s thrusting hard into you now and it’s prolonging your climax, reverberating the sensations into an endless ocean of pleasure. “Fucking driving me mad, I want you so bad.” Dean is also thrusting his tongue between your lips, running it down your neck, nibbling at your shoulder, devouring your breasts. You begin to drown in him, swallowed up by this man that is so sinfully beautiful and so fucking good at blowing your mind. Your nails dig into his back, his pace never letting up as you disappear beneath him. You finally feel him on the cusp; each shove becomes more sporadic than the last, “Jesus Christ, so fucking… Goddamn it.” He quickens his pace for the remaining onslaught. He grunts, loud and long as he finally releases hot and throbbing deep inside, every muscle going rigid with the euphoric cataclysm.

 Dean finally collapses down on you, crushing you, but not painfully. His weight is a comfort as you both lay there catching your breath and then he shakily lifts himself up, his lips trailing along your cheek as he shifts off of you and sprawls onto the floor at your side. His arms are flung out to either side and his fingers nearest your head begin to play fondly in your hair. He’s staring at you and he looks angelic at this angle; despite his delicious dirty talking mouth, as he lies there on the kitchen floor with you. Discomfort sets in quick because floors are unforgiving, and you pick yourselves up at the same time, both of you grinning from ear to ear as you realize exactly what you just did. Dean grabs his shirt from the floor and zips up his jeans while watching you pick up your shirt and bra. He comes over and engulfs one breast and then the other in wide openmouthed kisses, his tongue circling each nipple as he does. “Aw, do you have to put those back on?” Dean’s voice is disappointed as he kneads your breasts with his palms. You give him a smile as you pluck his shirt from his hand and wrap your bra up inside it. Then you slide your own shirt on and shiver as the fabric glides over your stimulated nipples. “Girl knows how to compromise, I like that.” He leans down and bites, gingerly, capturing one nipple and then the other through the fabric as you run your fingers through his cropped hair. “Guess we should work on those dishes huh?”

 The dishes eventually get done, but you’re both sopping wet by the time they are because you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, and you eventually end up in Dean’s bedroom for round two.


	7. Chapter 7

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You’ve never had this much sex in this many days in all your life. That’s not a complaint but it’s pretty mind-blowing when you recount the last couple of days. When you truly stop and think about it, this is all so far beyond weird, not just the sex, just everything. Angels and demons, life threatening plots that could mean letting Lucifer free to roam the earth, and you’re now called some sort of Gatekeeper because of a frickin spell. You didn’t say this out loud to anyone but you’re pretty worried about the “consummation” part with the “key”. What does that even mean? Does that mean someone is going to fuck you with some big old key or is the key going to end up being some strange person just like you’re the Gatekeeper, or will it be something even weirder? You try not to think about it too much and you push the thoughts out of your head by focusing on memories of consummation with the Winchester brothers.

 It’s fascinating how the dynamics between the three of you has changed. Technically Sam was your first, but then Dean swooped in and claimed you hard, leaving things complicated, and then Sam fixed that complication by being the backdoor man and this has all been in the space of a couple of days. Sam has been so amazing, knowing that you are having them both and being ok with it. You aren’t sure why he’s ok with it, if it’s something you said or did, or maybe he’s just used to sharing things with his brother and a girl can fall under that category too. You doubt that last part but you’re still awed by Sam and his whole attitude towards all of this. He started out as the sweet innocent one, and he still is very sweet, but he has a carnal eroticism that you didn’t see coming and he definitely is not innocent and you’re completely ok with that.

 Then there’s Dean. Good god that man makes you weak in the knees. He’s sweet and rough at the same time and he’s fun and sexy and when you fuck, well, he takes you places that others can’t, not even Sam. Dean is so straight forward which is the yin to Sam’s yang but it also means he might have a problem if he ever finds out that you’re hooking up with his little brother at the same time. Recalling his attitude earlier today makes you think that he already suspects, but you have no idea what to do because there’s no way you can say no to either one of them and you’re pretty sure they don’t want to deny themselves either.

 Another thing that’s new is that you’ve also never taken this many showers before and you begin to wonder if it will dry out your skin. At least you don’t wet your hair this time as you wash the delicious forest smell of Dean from your body. You should feel so guilty, but nope, not even a little bit. Strangely enough, this all feels so perfectly right with the exception of Dean’s possible problem with this arrangement. You will just have to deal with that if it comes, just like you’ve been dealing with everything else that’s been thrown at you. That reminds you of your little speech to Sam about calmly accepting what is and doing what you can with what you have. Hmmm. You wonder where Sam is right now. Library most likely, which is where you head after getting cleaned up.

 Just as you suspected, there he is, folded over that big black tome, papers and books scattered around him and a laptop at his elbow. Sam looks up as you enter and he flashes you a smile as he sits back in his chair, disengaging from his research. You’re sure he notices that you’ve changed clothes and his eyes study you for a minute as you approach, his expression indecipherable. You’re suddenly worried that you read everything wrong and he really wasn’t giving you permission to do what you wanted, but then Sam stands, stretches long and tall, and then pulls you into a messy hug and kisses the top of your head. “Bet you wore his ass out.” Sam chuckles quietly into your hair at his own comment and you have no reply to that surprising statement. He cups your chin in his fingers, “As long as you saved some for me then I’m glad.” Your eyes are like saucers as you silently nod yes, yes to both of those things and that damn endless well of desire begins to stir. He smiles again before pulling away and sitting back down. “Good.” Sam has this strange power over you, that you never saw coming, and it’s pretty amazing. You never knew how hot it would be for him to know and be ok with it, and then to give you permission to do what you want… although you technically don’t need permission. It’s not like you belong to him… or do you? In a way you do. You belong to both of them and they belong to you, and that thought makes you want to purr with delight. How Interesting.

 “Wanna help me out or did you just come here to be a lovely distraction? I’m fine either way.” Sam crashes your thought train and you realize that you were probably staring at him. You smile at his compliment and then offer to help if he wants it. “Thanks. Let me show what I’ve got so far….” Sam catches you up on what he’s been doing, which is a lot, and then the two of you work for several hours on research and Sam’s leg never stops touching yours.

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You hang out in the galley while Sam makes dinner and you don’t see hide nor hair of Dean until the food is ready. You would swear he has a sixth sense because of his timing and you say that as Dean enters the room. “Well as awesome as that would be, it’s a little thing called texting.” Dean holds up his phone and shows you the text Sam sent saying ~dinner in 10~. You chuckle and then hum in approval as Dean pulls you in for a quick kiss while Sam’s back is turned towards the stove. You try not to think about Sam as Dean kisses you, and you also try not to think about how you fucked Dean hard and heavy right where you’re standing, but you still blush hot because of both of those things. You do your best to act normal after that, grabbing the silverware and plates and then you all sit down to a lovely dinner prepared by Sam. He’s made a tasty looking pan-fried chicken that rests on a bed of rice and a side of equally yummy looking veggies. Damn these boys know how to spoil a girl with good food. It’s the usual seating arrangement and just like lunchtime, both of the boys have as much of their foot and leg pressed up against yours as they can. “So how goes the research?” Dean asks as he chews on one of his typical oversized bites.

 “We’re getting there. We’ve found bits of that spell scattered across several books. It looks like a pretty major deal to get everything ready to open the door. Piecing it all together is proving to be a bit tricky. I think a break is in order and a fresh start tomorrow will be for the best.” Sam flashes you a secret little smile and your whole body heats up.

 “I’d normally suggest blowing this pop stand and getting some fresh air but I don’t think that’s the best idea right now so, movie night it is.” Dean gestures to the bunker in general, “Being stuck in here with us isn’t too torturous I hope?” You smile while internally chuckling at the kind of torture it’s been and you don’t mind it at all.

 Dinner continues to be pleasant and all three of you hang out in the kitchen and clean up after dinner. They let you pick the movie and the three of you sit, just like the other night, and again you are driven to distraction by Dean’s hand on your thigh and Sam’s leg pressed against yours. You’d think you would be used to it by now but that same tingling charge is there, and by the time you yawn, stretch and declare it’s time to hit the sack you are secretly so wound up it’s pathetic. “Yup. Sleep sounds pretty damn good right now.” Sam mumbles as he stretches too. You can’t help but watch his muscles tighten as he straightens his back, arms clenched over his head, and you noticeably stare at Sam’s six pack when his shirt goes up into the stretch with him. You are pretty sure Dean saw you, because he leans over and lightly slaps Sam in the stomach, causing him to choke on his yawn and curl into himself with a surprised “oomph!” Dean laughs loud and hearty as Sam gives him the evil eye, “What the hell dude?” You laugh too.

 “Goin’ soft Sammy? Normally you catch me.” Dean gives you a wink and then continues to chuckle as he grabs a few empty beer bottles and heads for the door. Sam rolls his eyes at the back of Dean’s head and you can’t wipe the smile off your face because these two goofballs are pretty damn funny. Sam grabs his own fistful of bottles, you grab the popcorn bowl and then everyone heads towards the kitchen with Dean leading the way. Sam walks by your side with his arm brushing against yours. You want to feel so much more of him but not with Dean right there, so you just make sure he keeps touching your arm as you walk and you try to behave.

 Once everyone is in the kitchen and everything is tidied up, Sam turns to you with a smile, “I’ll walk you to your room.” You watch Dean’s grin evaporate instantly and before you can reply Dean interjects.

 “No dude, you will not walk her to her room. I’ll do it.” Dean is in full defensive stance.

 Sam chuckles, brushing off Dean’s sudden shift in attitude, “It’s ok Dean. I’ve got this.”

 “Oh do you?” There is a tense anger in the way Dean asks that question. Oh shit! They aren’t joking around. Sam folds his arms across his chest, straightens his spine and gives Dean his absolute best bitchface and it says everything that needs saying without a single word.

 It’s a stare down and it’s intense. These guys are really about to fight over this as you just stand there and watch, and why are you just standing there? Do something! Desperation drives you more than bravery when you step between them and put a hand on each of their shoulders. You try to keep your voice steady and soothing as you tell them to cut it out and stop joking around. You’re trying to play this off lightly and you tell them you’re a big girl, remember, and you can walk yourself to your own room. You pour every ounce of ‘please don’t fight’ into the connection you have between the two of them and it appears to work because they soften up a little bit.

 Sam’s aggressive stance melts away and he scratches the back of his neck out of awkward discomfort and then sighs, “Yeah. Night yall.” His eyes dip to the floor and he turns and walks from the room. Dean almost seems triumphant as he turns to you. He believes he’s won this imaginary contest even though he won’t be walking you to the room either and he gives you a grin as he pulls you in for a quick but delicious kiss.

 “G’night.” Dean flashes you another gorgeous smile as he steps back, turns, and then heads out the door too. You can’t be mad at either of them and you can’t help by smile a little at Dean’s childish triumph but as soon as they’re out of sight you head straight to your room and grab your phone. You were going to send a text to Sam but you see he’s already beaten you to it. ~Thank you. We can be pretty bullheaded sometimes.~ Not exactly the text you were expecting and you wonder if maybe Sam really does think he’s lost. You aren’t having any of that, so you text back ~Yes, both of you can be. Please come soon.~ You assume he understands what that means which is confirmed soon enough when he replies, ~Soon, but not too soon.~ You can always rely on Sam to leave you in suspense and wanting. You go about stripping down, freshening up, and brushing your teeth and then you slide under the covers and get cozy. You wait long enough that the quiet, the dim light, and the comfort of the bed lull you into a light slumber and you don’t notice when someone slips into the room and closes the door on its silent hinges.

  
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Sam slides under the covers, causing you to stir enough to realize someone is there. Sam’s long hair tickles your cheek as he leans in for a gentle kiss and you lightly moan and kiss him back as you struggle to brush off the urge to sleep. Long fingers begin to glide down your shoulder and you tuck into him, pressing up against his heated frame. His kiss continues as his fingers knead your shoulder and your hand slides up and down Sam’s back and then heads down a little further to grip his tight ass. Good god he’s got a nice ass and that thought makes it so much easier to wake up.

 Pushing down on your shoulder, Sam flattens you onto the bed and you feel his weight press down. Naked skin on naked skin from head to toe, it feels glorious as he lies on top of you while his tongue gingerly plays with yours. He’s so gentle as you lay there under him, feeling the planes of his chest brush your nipples and his hardened cock grazing against your crotch. You want him inside so bad, so you tilt your pelvis, pressing your hot sex against his shaft and Sam moans quietly into your mouth. “Mmmm. You’re impatient.” You are, but apparently Sam has an endless supply of patience and loves to torture, because he lifts himself off of you and pulls away from the kiss. His emerald eyes shine in the lamplight as he gazes down at you, “Do you trust me?” You aren’t sure how to answer that. You’re used to Dean asking questions during sex, questions that need no answer, but this is legit. You do trust him, with your life actually, but you aren’t sure what he’s going for. Sam’s fingers brush into your hair and he gives you another long and gentle kiss. He wants to play, and not in a way he has before, that ever-present connection tells you that, and you know he won’t hurt you, but he needs permission. Your pulse quickens at this new twist and you breathe out a quiet yes.

 Sam climbs off of you and sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves, and you watch as his hand runs up under the pillow and pulls out a long striped business tie. Oh. Game changer. He looks almost sheepish as he gathers both of your wrists and wraps them tenderly; then he gingerly lifts your arms above your head and secures the tie to the top of the bed frame above the pillow, his chest hovering an inch from your face as he works. When Sam is done his hands slide down your arms and then one disappears from your skin as the other slides up into your hair, his thumb running across your cheek as he sits and gazes at you for a moment. The connection between you is passing along so much information. He wants to please you, he is basking in the pleasurable sight before him, he’s excited that you said yes, and you know that all he wants is for you to trust him completely, and you do trust him; there is no fear, only delight in the mystery of what Sam will do. You give him a tender smile and send the message, willing him to know that this is ok, that you trust him wholeheartedly, and that you want him badly.

 You know the message was received in the way he moves. Sam slides his hand out of your hair and runs it down your neck, between your breasts, down a little further and then back up, caressing your skin tenderly. His eyes are fixated on your every action as you moan when his fingers begin to roll one nipple and then ghost across your skin to the other. You whimper quietly as he explores further, gliding up and down your arms, across your breasts, down your stomach and legs, up your inner thigh, but he stops before he gets to your sex, torturing you, leaving you wanting. You lean into it whenever you can, reveling in his pious touch and you see Sam’s lust gathering deep behind those shining eyes as he watches your reactions. You have no sense of time as he plays, tormenting you with supple fingers that leave you craving and you close your eyes and the world melts away, like it always does, leaving only Sam Winchester.

 You let out a shocked moan when you suddenly feel warm wet lips on your breast, and then the other one, Sam’s hair tickling you as he goes. He moves up, his mouth and tongue leaving hot trails on your skin. Heading up your arm he stops and slides one of your fingers between his lips. Holy shit that sends shivers through your entire body. His chest again hovers right at your face as he continues to cause your body to quiver in delight and before Sam moves, you lift up your head and swirl your tongue around his nipple. You hear Sam suck in a breath and you feel him smile against your skin as his lips ghost down the other arm. “Naughty, naughty.” Sam purrs and then his tongue slips between your lips and he slowly devours you.

 “It’s not your turn yet.” Sam’s words are whispered against your cheek and your body shivers with ecstasy, the molten pool inside you pitching at the promise that you will get to touch him. His teeth graze your chin and his mouth nestles into your neck as you feel him mount you. His warmth is welcome, like a furnace against your skin, his weight a comfort. One knee and then the other is slid between your legs and you lay open and quivering, hoping beyond hope that Sam will pierce you. You feel him, hot and hard, nudging at your entrance. The dim light catches the salacious gleam in Sam’s eye, which matches his wicked grin as you confess that you want him inside you. Sam wanted you to beg, you know for certain he did when he begins to intrude, holding his breath and concentrating on his excruciatingly slow pace. It seems like it never ends, like he is forever sliding into you and you pull at the tie and suck in a ragged breath when you finally feel the flesh of his stomach and groin press up against you. You are filled with Sam, he’s throbbing inside you and he lets out an explosive breath against your neck and his body trembles at the feel of you engulfing him.

 Slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to move. His cock gliding in and out at a torturously mild pace that feels so incredibly divine. Your hands pull at the tie again, wanting to touch him, feel his skin, feel the pull and release of his muscles as he slowly rocks into you. Sam hums in delight against your cheek as your body tightens with yearning. Sam gently licks his way into your mouth and lazily consumes you, everything a tortuous tease of slow, slow, slow. You’re on the edge; you can feel it. You know it wouldn’t take much to send you into bliss and every time you buck your hips up into him, egging him on, Sam stops and presses you heavily down into the bed while humming in delight. He doesn’t say a word, he just holds you prisoner until you stop and then he starts again, his pace the same slow torture as before. It’s captivating; an excruciating rapture, and you drown in it, slowly getting lost in this new feel of Sam.

 You slip into a blissful trance and it takes you a long moment before you realize Sam is untying you while still moving at that same passive rhythm. You feel the fabric unwind from your wrists and you’re free. You lay there for a time; not moving, not touching, and then you come alive. He doesn’t fight it as your fingers slide up into his hair and you pull Sam into a sloppy passionate kiss. You claim his mouth hard, and your hands claw at his body and your hips buck up into his. You’re hungry for Sam, so hungry for his power, his lust, his pleasure and you want it, bad. Between licks of your tongue Sam chuckles, “Hmmm... if I... didn’t know... any better... I’d say... you want something.” You call him a fucking tease and then you beg, because you want to take charge and fuck him hard but he shows no willingness to move from his current position and even if he did, you don’t want him out of you for even a moment.

 Sam smiles into your kisses and then suddenly snaps his hips, thrusting hard and deep into you. You gasp, breaking your assault on his mouth and your nails dig into his shoulder blades. “Is that it?” he snaps again. You gasp again, “Hmmmm.” He does it again, eliciting the same response from you. “I think.” Snap. “I’m on to something here.” Snap. “What do you think?” You can’t answer because he snaps his hips again and again and again and you feel it building up inside you; that heat churning and roiling. Sam growls against your lips, “I think I know exactly what you want.” Then he stops speaking because his tongue is busy exploring your gasping mouth and he increases his pace, his hips pressing you into the bed, lifting and then pressing down again. Every thrust is resplendent as Sam begins to power into you and you finally erupt, loud and violent, clawing at Sam’s back as you arch into it.

 You finally rake in a rasping breath and Sam immediately takes it away again, claiming you with his mouth and driving harder and deeper into you. Your orgasm continues to roll, every upshot into your sex revitalizing it, stoking it higher until all you can process is the pure unadulterated pleasure of Sam. His stamina is unmatched and you quiver, whimper and writhe beneath his assault. Sam encompasses you, his elbows stab the bed beside you, his head tucked into your neck when he takes a break from lavishing your mouth, his chest a lovely weight against your body, and his never ceasing cock feeling as if it’s advancing ever deeper into your core with every thrust.

 You finally begin to feel comfortably numb, almost like your body has become used to this level of euphoria and you become pliant beneath him. Sam feels the change and he growls low and threatening, “Oh no you don’t.” Then he’s gone. All of Sam is removed from you in an instant and it shocks you deep, waking you from the euphoric stupor. You have no time to react as Sam grabs your ankles and hauls you to the end of the bed where he lets your legs unceremoniously drop to down like dead weight. His hands grip your hips tightly and you feel him pulling you to the very edge of the bed and then you arch your back and gasp when he thrusts his hungry cock back inside you. New angle, new sensations and while your lips are left alone to moan and whimper, Sam’s hands are gripping your jiggling breasts and he’s pinching your nipples, lancing pleasure straight to your core. You feel it building again, that molten pool was pleasantly stirring after the first but now it’s back to a roiling rage. You’re on the cusp as Sam slams into you with renewed vigor and you know his stamina will give out eventually but you can’t seem to fling yourself over the edge again, like your in a holding pattern and you need one last straw in order to break this camels back.

 You feel your own hand slide down till your palm is covering your crotch, your fingers parted into a V and you witness the feel of Sam’s cock driving past your fingers and into your sex. Sam’s pace never stutters but you hear him suck in a labored breath at the sensation of sliding past your fingers and into you. Your palm brushes a sensitive spot and a burst of pleasure courses through you. You pull your fingers out of Sam’s way and you begin to rub your own clit. Holy fuck. That push you needed has just been found and you don’t stop fondling yourself while Sam continues to thrust, thrust, thrust. “Jesus God woman that is hot!” Your eyes fly open at that statement and you see Sam struggling to maintain control while watching you play with your own clit and then you’re gone. Another mind-bending orgasm crashes over you and you cry out loud and strangled as he rides you through it and then you feel him stutter and then pound in hard, letting out his own growl of ecstasy as he releases hot and forceful deep inside you.

 Sam is panting hard as he steps back and hauls you to your feet. Your legs are jelly but he keeps you upright and he kisses you, strong and appreciative, and then his lips turn reverent as they massage yours. He finally leads you to the side of the bed where he gingerly helps you lay down, your head resting comfortably on the pillow, and then he slides into bed beside you. You mumble a barely intelligible thank you and then snuggle into his warmth. The last thing you hear is Sam chuckle as he kisses the top of your head and then you quickly loose consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

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The same dream plagues your sleep but this time it doesn’t destroy your psyche like before. You still wake up crying and trembling with frigid terror, but Sam is there and you knew he would be. He holds you and soothes you, asking if it’s the same dream. When you say it is, he kisses you gently and wraps around you, comforting you with his presence and his warmth until you fall back asleep and it’s not nearly as horrifying as it was the previous night.

The morning is the same as always. You wake up alone, all evidence of Sam is wiped from the room and you don’t even check your phone for the time before heading down the empty halls to the shower. When done, you bypass the galley because no one is there and you want to find someone so you don’t feel so alone in this empty place. You find Sam in the library and it looks like he’s been up for a while already, freshly scribbled papers and new stacks of books are spread everywhere. He flashes you a boyish grin when you walk into the room, “Hey. Good to see you up and about.” You return the smile but you’re still tired, so you gracelessly plop down in the chair next to him and ask how long he’s been up. “You really don’t wanna know.” Sam chuckles when you make a face at him. “I’m not used to a lot of sleep, kinda part of the life, part of being a hunter. It’s ok though, gives me time to do this.” Sam gestures to the spread across the tables. “I found some stuff this morning. I wanna wait on Dean to explain, but I’m not sure where he’s at. He won’t answer his damn phone.”

Like he’s been cued to enter, the bunker door clanks open and Dean shuts it loudly behind him. He glances over the balcony, sees you both and announces loudly, “Got breakfast!” as he holds up two bags of what looks like Styrofoam boxes. “I even got pie.” Your eyes follow him as he clangs down the stairs, crosses the control room, and comes up the steps. “Pie is for later.” Dean flashes you grin as he locks eyes with you and that ever present draw is there but you can tell immediately that something is just a little bit off. You can’t place it, but it’s like there is a hesitation, a crackle in the line or a bad connection that you can’t quite pinpoint. “Breakfast is right now.” He plunks the food down and starts handing out boxes to you and Sam. You’re glad you didn’t stop to eat cereal because the smell of bacon, eggs and freshmade biscuits is amazing.

“Glad you’re alive.” Sam gives Dean a flat look.

“What?” Dean stares at Sam for a minute and then rolls his eyes, “Didn’t feel like talking ok.”

Sam glares and then decides to drop it after glancing in your direction. Instead he dives right into what he’s been waiting to share, not even waiting for Dean to sit down. From the look of the scattered notes lying around, apparently Sam’s taken all the pieces you two found yesterday and has completed a good chunk of the puzzle. You think maybe Dean was right and he really does research better when he’s alone. “Ok. So we found all kinds of passages and notes once we knew what we were looking for yesterday and now I think I’ve figured it out, well part of it anyways.” Sam shoves in a bite of food, pushes his box aside, and then cracks open the big black tome to where a piece of paper has been wedged. You see writing all over it, sprawled at angles, straight lines, up the side and sideways down to the edge and you wonder if Sam can even read it. His eyes skim across the page for a minute while he chews and swallows and then Sam presses the page against the book so his finger can trail along as he reads.

“Here’s what I’ve put together. **So it is professed unto to me that when the four united descend, and evil rests, it shall not be named thy end. He who is decreed, wielding the light above and the ashen river below shall be ordained the gatekeeper of the gilded cage. Within lies a great terror and only through the waive of maidens bountiful, decimation of the incidental patrimony, denigration of a devout, and sacrifice of the septenary may the gatekeeper petition the instrument of release, hence the sacrifices four shall be laid before the false throne and behold, the great key shall come unto you upon a broken frame and the consummation shall lay bare the gilded cage.”**

Dean just stares flatly at Sam, his look saying why did you even read that out loud. “Sammy. Now you will, without me having to ask, give me the English version of that crap.” Dean stabs at his eggs, trying to be jokingly sarcastic but his words come out a little too pointed. He’s on edge this morning, a lot more than usual and you have no idea why.

Sam eyes his brother for a minute, picking up on the extra undertone as well. “Well we know what the first part means, it’s about the gatekeeper.” He glances in your direction and then puts his focus back on Dean. “Then the end of it is referring to the ritual that takes place in order to open the pit, but it’s the middle part that I’ve been focusing on, these sacrifices four. They’re pretty gnarly.” Sam shuffles through a couple of pages that are tucked under another book and comes up with another note scrawled sheet. “~waive of maidens bountiful~ means…”

“Yeah, yeah, virgin sacrifices, lots of ‘em. Got that one.” Dean interrupts without a care. “The rest don’t make a damn bit of sense though.” Sam raises his eyebrows at his brother, impressed that he understood that first one but then he clears his throat and sits up a little straighter, trying to poker-face through his annoyance at Dean for interrupting and being a dick.

“The other three took me a while to sort out. ‘Denigration of a devout’ is the only nonfatal of all of these, you just need to find a devout follower of the divine, More than likely a priest or the like, and you destroy their reputation and anything they hold dear, even their faith has to be stripped from them. Pretty much you take away everything except their life.”

“Cheery.” Dean quips sarcastically.

Sam smiles wryly and continues, “’Sacrifice of the Septenary’ refers to a mass suicide that must be performed by those who want to open the cage.”

“So, what? They’re all gonna commit seppuku? We won’t even have to get our hands dirty. Awesome.” Dean perks up with that comment.

Sam huffs with a twitching smile, “Not exactly Dean. Seven of them will kill themselves but who knows how many more are out there.” Dean just quietly grunts grudgingly in agreement, any glimmer of joy fading fast, and he goes back to his food. Sam eyes him and then moves on, “Then there’s the last sacrifice, ‘Decimate the incidental patrimony’. This one took me a while to figure out but it’s kinda major. It means destroying an entire family tree. It doesn’t matter what bloodline, as long as it’s the entire thing down to the last man, woman and child. Mom, dad, aunts, uncle, half-brothers, grandma, grandpa… kids… all of em” Sam sighs heavy, looking sad when he finishes that one and you just want to hug him but now is not the time.

“Well all that sounds like a big ole crap sandwich.” Dean scowls, “But at least these ‘sacrifices’ are big enough that we can hopefully sniff out these douchebags pretty quick.”

“I’ve been checking into it and these guys started on the sacrifices before making our gatekeeper” Sam gestures in your direction, “I think I’ve found the ‘devout’.” Sam plicks at his computer for a few seconds and brings up something on his screen. “Looks like we were too late to save, um…” Sam scans the page for a moment and then announces, “Reverend Sanderson. This poor guy’s been in the paper for weeks now. You name it; they say he did it, tax fraud, stealing money from the church, soliciting young petitioners for sex, sharing confidential information. He denies all of it saying, quote, ‘God has forsaken me. My life has been taken from me, without mercy by Satan himself, but where is he? Where is God? Nowhere, that’s where.’ The poor guy’s life is ruined. His wife has left him, his kids are quoted as disowning him as a father, he’s been removed from the church, his car was vandalized, and get this, a bunch of people broke into his house, tied him up and terrorized him with a satanic ritual after spraypainting ‘go back to hell’ on his living room floor.”

“Coverup for the real deal?” Dean asks through a bite of sausage.

“I’m betting yeah, and from what I was able to dig up, he really is innocent. Everything’s right there, so the reverend was the unlucky devout.”

“Yeah, well, sucks to be him.” Dean is crass, “Found any of the other sacrifices yet? Like someone we CAN save?” Sam’s jaw tightens as he bites back a retort to that nasty comment.

“Maybe.” Sam exhales sharply through his nose, straining against the urge to fight with his brother as he taps the keys on his laptop. He spins it around so that both you and Dean can see the screen. It looks like a half dozen browser windows are open and the one on top is a newspaper article with a picture of a young girl, perhaps 16, and the headline reads ~Jogger finds body of local teen in river~. “This is Valerie Henrick from Taylorville, Illinois. She’s the third teenage girl found dead within the last 2 weeks and the papers don’t say much, but I called the local PD and they say all three looked a helluva lot like ritual murder and I’m betting all three are virgins.”

Dean pushes his empty box away and stands up. “Alright. I’ll grab my crap and hit the road.” Dean seems all to eager to leave.

“No need. Cas is already on it.” Sam seems to be on quite the roll this morning but Dean doesn’t appear to appreciate it at all and you can feel his tension from where you sit. What on earth is wrong with him? He’s acting like a caged animal that’s been poked with a sharp stick. You don’t need that special connection to know that he’s aching to drive fast, and get real violent. Something is eating at him and he needs to vent.

“You sent Cas?” Dean is incredulous. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” Sam just kinda shrugs like it’s not that bad of an idea but he also doesn’t really defend that decision either. “Ah hell no.” It’s a flat statement and then Dean digs out his cell phone while he turns and exits the library. You look at Sam and he raises his eyebrows and blows out a breath of exhaustion. You kinda share the sentiment. That was pretty tense and you can’t leave it alone, you have to know what’s wrong because you don’t like seeing Dean in this mood. You grab all the boxes and the bag with the pie and tell Sam you’ll be back later. He just gives you a tight smile and watches as you quietly walk out of the room.

<<< >>>

You don’t see Dean as you walk to the kitchen, so you quickly throw away the takeout boxes and toss the pie in the fridge; then you go on the hunt to find him. You know your way around well enough to take the shortcut and you find Dean standing near the doorway to his own room, still on the phone with Cas. He is just as impossible to sneak up on as Sam is and you swear he knew you were there before you turned the corner. Dean wraps up the conversation with, “Don’t do anything until I get there.” and then he stuffs his phone in a pocket. You have that mouse amongst lions feel again as you approach him and Dean stands there watching you, his face rolling through several emotions at once. Pain is the prominent expression that he’s trying hardest to hide as he masks it with an angry scowl. It’s almost like it hurts him to look at you for some reason, but he doesn’t turn away. Dean just stands there and waits for you to come to him and the closer you get, the more powerful you feel the connection and the break that is between you. Something’s happened. Something has shaken his foundation, but what?

You stand within inches of this roughly beautiful man who is wound tight with angst and you don’t know what to say. You never seem to know what to say. Even asking ‘what’s wrong’ doesn’t seem appropriate so what you do is reach out and take his hand in yours. You feel him tense, like he wants to pull away but he doesn’t, he just stands there, compliant. The connection amplifies to full force like it always does when you touch one of the Winchester’s and your eyes run from his hand up to those emerald pools that are filled with anger, pain, and lust. You interlace your fingers, your palm pressed to his, and you move in closer, the proximity buzzing with a torrent of emotions as you silently ask why.

Dean won’t answer you. No information flows through that connection and you are confused. You see the want in his eyes, locked on you with a salacious need, but the underlying pain is prevalent and he is refusing to allow you to understand. Dean is so fucking stubborn, and silence reigns. You know he’s angry because something has hurt him and he’s reacting like a wounded animal biting at anything within reach, and you want to fix it, make it go away, so you will him to understand. You pour emotion into the connection as you stand there; you hurt when he hurts, you ache at the sight of him upset and you don’t want to see him run away angry or pained, you can’t bear it because Dean makes you happy and you can’t live without him. Oh god. You really cannot live without him. You need Dean Winchester. That realization astonishes you, hitting hard like a fist to your gut and you know all of it just shot straight through the connection with him, because Dean’s eyes widen and he sucks in a sharp breath.

There is a moment of hesitation and then there is action. “I need you too.” A seething whisper as Dean presses you up against his doorframe and he violates your mouth with a passionate tongue. You stand there pliant from shock and you drown in the feel of Dean’s savagery. He is brutal as he claims your mouth hot and hard, his hands groping desperately. His strength is uncontrolled and you gasp when he grips a part of you to tightly or roughly crushes you in to closely. Dean needs you like you need him and he’s pissed off because of that, the connection finally sharing something. Angry sex. This is going to be angry sex, and maybe it’s that connection feeding it straight to your core, but you suddenly get angry right back at Dean.

You grip his shirt and roll so you both swing into his room and then you shove Dean onto the bed, kicking the door shut with your foot as you rip the shirt and bra from your body. Dean doesn’t stay down. “Oh yeah.” He’s back on his feet and one arm pulls you in by the small of your back and his other hand presses between your breasts and he dips you back roughly with a growl as he immediately attacks your breasts. You’re bent so far that you gasp at the closed door behind you as he grabs, then licks and bites, then pinches and nibbles, his hot breath panting against your skin as he consumes you. You retaliate by straightening up enough to grab his long sleeve shirt and you yank it down, ripping at it until it’s off of him and then you interrupt his assault by grabbing his t-shirt and hauling it up, forcing him to let you go so that you can shed him of it. “You’re fucking mine.” Dean heads right back in towards your breasts but you catch his head in your hands and pull him up to your lips for a hard kiss. Then you shove Dean back down on the bed.

Dean’s eyes are wild; yours are too as you climb on him for another violent play of tongues. It’s aggressive, all grazing teeth and sloppy panting attacks full of hot breath and hungry moans into each other’s mouth; and he never stops groping, his powerful hands pawing at any part of you he can find. “Damnit I need you.” You pull away from his kiss and bite his jaw and then clamp down and suckle at his neck before you slide down further and return his attention by aggressively nibbling at his perky nipples. “Ah fuck.” Dean sucks in a breath and you know that pleasure is shooting straight to his cock. Your fingers rip at his belt buckle and become frantic to unzip his pants. Maddened, you haul them down, stripping them from his body with aggression and before you can come back in for another attack he’s up again, his tongue stabbing between your lips, one hand holding your head to him so you can’t break away. “Fucking need you.”

Dean blindly unbuttons your cargo pants and gravity gets them to where you can wiggle and kick them off without breaking contact with Dean’s voracious tongue. “I want you.” You’re arms fight with Dean’s as you interrupt each other’s frantic groping. You bat his arm out of your way so you can slide your hand down his side and then you grip a handful of that magnificent ass. “So fucking bad.” Apparently Dean likes you touching him because he moves his hands up into your hair as he continues to steal your breath away, capturing your head, allowing no escape from his hungry lips. With the path clear you begin to worship his body with touch, “Mmmm yeah girl.” Your hands are roaming, clutching, massaging, gripping, and stroking any part of him you can find and you never stay in one place long as your angry passion slowly turns to crazed lust.

Finally your mouth is released and you suck in an uninterrupted breath while Dean nips at your cheek, your ear, and then he quietly growls as he clamps down on the soft flesh of your neck. “Mine.” A small stab of pain vibrates your body when Dean’s teeth firmly plant, and then he sucks, hard. You know it will leave a mark, like he’s claiming his territory; you’re his. You… are his. Dean’s mouth releases and you feel him pulling you along as he moves, shattering your revelry. You focus on walking with him as he steps back several paces. Over his shoulder you can see a sturdy armless chair covered in magazines right behind him. Dean finally lets you go and in a quick motion he shoves the clutter, making the magazines fly haphazardly across the floor before he sits down.

“Come here.” Dean is rough as he grabs your hips, drawing you in to straddle his lap. With Dean sitting down, you’re taller, meaning your breasts are at the perfect height for an attack, and you stand there while he devours your nipples one at a time. You moan towards the ceiling as tendrils of warm desire crawl down your skin and into your core. You want Dean inside you so badly; you’re his and you don’t care if he’s done feasting on your flesh or not, you grab his rock hard member and line it up so you can sit down on his lap. Good god Dean fills you up so perfectly and you wrap your arms around him and pant into his ear for a moment as you revel in the feel of it. “Jesus Christ girl, do you ever stop feeling so fucking good?” His words spur you into movement and he grunts in pleasure at the motion.

Chair fucking is not the most practical but with Dean’s hands gripping your ass and helping you lift and then fall back down onto his hungry cock it turns into an aggressive rhythm of you shoving him inside as hard as possible. The splendor of him filling you up is amplified as you watch his face. Dean is watching you with lustful awe, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as you bounce on his lap, driving him ever closer to the edge. “Holy mother of fuck.” You start to see Dean strain; his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll, his grip tightens on your ass and you feel his entire body tensing, and you know he can’t take much more or he’ll be gone. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t climaxed yet, what matters is that Dean looks wrecked, so close to the edge, and he’s fighting it with all he has and suddenly your only goal in life is to make Dean Winchester cum when he doesn’t want to. Your passion ignites, your rhythm picks up and your tongue explores new territory between those angelic lips that are breathing out blasphemy as you push him to the cusp.

Dean retaliates. He releases your ass and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in tight so you can’t move. “Oh no you don’t.” Dean is stronger and it’s not fair. You find yourself fighting him as he launches up out of the chair, still holding you, cock still stuffed inside, and he walks to the edge of the bed and throws you down roughly. “I’m not done with you yet.” Your empty, no part of Dean is touching you and your body aches for him to return. Before you can even truly appreciate the craving, Dean is down between your legs and his mouth is devouring your sex. You suck in a sharp breath and your entire body goes rigid from the sudden pleasure. Between licks and nibbles you hear Dean moan appreciatively, “Mmmm. You taste so goddamn good.” You arch your back and sharply gasp Dean’s name when you feel two of his fingers slide inside of you, and he begins to fuck you with them while his tongue continues to assault your clit. You climax hard, your fingers snaking through Dean’s short hair and then they move to grip the bed, and then they run back through his hair, your body rolling through the spasm of ecstasy. Dean’s fingers don’t stop as his wet lips glide up your body, pause at your breasts, run up your neck and then Dean’s tongue invades your mouth and you kiss him hard as you feel his fingers slide out to be replaced by his cock.

“Like that? Yeah, you fucking liked that.” Dean purrs as he sheathes deep into your heat. You gasp into his mouth as he thrusts in hard, causing another wave of pleasure to roll through, and he shoves into you again and again. You begin to yield beneath him, all the anger and fight fed into you before, draining from your body, but not Dean. His anger and adrenaline have him fueled to new heights like a fevered storm that is penetrating to your churning core and he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, thrusts. Then, in an instant, he’s gone again, the feel of Dean absent from your entire form and you hear him order, “Get up.”

You’re harshly pulled to standing and Dean’s lips mash hungrily against yours before he spins you around and bends you over sharply. You’re standing; bent over, with your hands on the bed and you hear the sharp smack before you feel the hot sting when Dean slaps your ass soundly. You yelp in surprise, your body warming at the tingling patch left in its wake and then you are blasted with deeper sensations as Dean pierces you with his thick shaft and you moan out a pleasured sound, “Jesus you even moan beautiful.” Dean’s praise sets your body humming as he begins to rage into you with brutal power. It doesn’t hurt, but his strength is making you feel like he’s goring you directly to the core where your desire is a raging volcano once again. You continue to moan for him and the louder you get the harder he thrusts. You continue to build in volume until your yelling Dean’s name into the bedspread as he assaults you with such intensity that your knees begin to buckle from the blinding orgasm that encompasses your body.

“Holy fuck girl. Yeah. Fucking yeah.” You ride the bliss, clenching your sex around Dean’s throbbing cock as he powers even harder into you and then his pace begins to stutter. You feel his muscles tightening and Dean’s grip on your hips is almost painful as he drives it home those final times and you feel him pulse hot and deep inside you with a loud pleasured growl. Your breathing is labored as Dean grabs you by the hair and pulls you up. He steers you to his mouth and together you pant and kiss as he holds you upright. Dean finally releases your lips and rolls so that his forehead is against yours. You have a moment to breathe, unhindered by Dean’s hungry lips. You both stand there; the only sound is the two of you gulping air until your breathing can steady.

You timidly test the connection between you by silently asking if things are better. Dean is quiet, completely silent, still unwilling to share, but you can feel him thinking. A minute passes, then another, unchanging except that you’ve shifted your head so that it rests on Dean’s shoulder while you stand there holding each other naked and spent. Finally Dean pulls in a deep breath, his chest expanding against yours, “I’ve gotta go.” He pulls back from you, threads his fingers into your hair and runs his thumb across the cut on your cheek that is now mostly healed. His eyes look pained again as they stare into yours and then you watch as he breaks the gaze and hurriedly grabs his clothes that have been strewn across the room. You stand there naked as you watch Dean get dressed and not a word is spoken. When he’s done, your eyes meet once more and he comes back in for a lingering kiss, “We’ll be gone longer this time. I’m sorry.” With that, you watch Dean stride out the door, your question still unanswered.

<<< >>>

It takes several minutes before the entirety of that phrase sinks in. “We” was a very important word and when that is fully realized, you can’t get dressed fast enough. By the time you’re dressed and are climbing the steps to the library the conversation is done and Sam has his jacket in hand, ready to go. Your insides clinch up at the sight of them ready to roll but you don’t say a word. How could you? They are doing this for you; headed into certain danger for you. Well, to be honest it’s mainly to save the world from Lucifer, but it’s for you too, so there’s no good reason to stop them from going. When Dean catches sight of you his eyes linger for a moment and you can almost see him replaying what just happened in his mind. A new emotion, guilt you think, laces his features and that pain is still present. He quickly buries it under a mask of gruff indifference as he shifts his attention to Sam. “Come on Sammy, we’re burning daylight.” His eyes flick back to you for just a moment. “We’ll be back before you know it girl, and we’ll keep in touch.” Then he turns and heads through the control room and up the steps to the main door.

You forget to hide your emotions as you watch him go; you’re sad, disappointed, and still confused, and it’s etched across your face. Dean leaves the door hanging open and when he’s out of sight Sam comes in close. “Hey. You alright?” You kinda want to cry but you don’t, you just tell Sam that you’re ok, just worried and you don’t want them to go. “I wish we didn’t have to, but this is pretty huge; and Dean is right, I shouldn’t have sent Cas. We’ll be careful, we always are, and I’m going to send Cas here to keep on eye on you while we’re gone, ok?” Your eyes immediately lock with Sam’s at that comment and you must have a concerned look on your face because Sam rubs yours shoulders, trying to reassure you. “Cas isn’t all that bad once you get to know him. He’s a little awkward, sure, but I want him here so I know you’re safe.” You don’t argue because it makes sense and you would rather Sam focus on staying alive than whether or not you’re ok. Sam gives you a warm smile and then he gingerly kisses your lips before turning and heading for the door. Again the giant door clangs shut, making the bunker echo like an empty tomb and again you are alone.


	9. Chapter 9

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It’s been exactly four days since the Winchester’s closed the bunker door and you are starting to go a little stir crazy. True to Sam’s word, Castiel popped in to check on you, unannounced and terrifying as fuck as you were cleaning up your dinner dishes. Not the best way to start things off but since then you’ve talked with Cas, actually had real legit conversations with the angel, and he isn’t so bad after all. He’s incredibly dry and his sense of humor, what little humor he has, is bazaar beyond imagining but he is a gentle soul, kind and caring towards life itself, which is an endearing quality, and overall he’s been pleasant company. He’s helpful too, and not just with keeping you sane in this silent labyrinth. The fridge was getting depressingly empty and even though you still resent the fact that he wouldn’t let you go with him, Cas went shopping for you and now you are just counting down the minutes until the boys get back. You’re currently sitting longways on the couch, back against the armrest so you can focus on Cas as you talk. He’s sitting on the furthest cushion from you, only an inch or two from your bare toes. Cas is like a store mannequin, all angles and stiff joints, like he doesn’t understand how to relax, but you’ve grown used to that, realizing it’s just the way he is.

Cas has been keeping you abreast with news of the hunt and you’re grateful because neither Sam nor Dean are big into sharing info. Aside from the naughty little sexting sessions you’ve had with each of them they haven’t said much of anything, and as much as you still want to know what’s wrong with Dean you don’t dare bring that up via text. Sam has been kind enough to text you every day and ask how you slept, his way of apologizing for not being there to help you with your nightmares. You tell him the same thing every morning, they haven’t stopped, you’re ok, but you miss his warmth. That last bit generally sparks a small conversation that leaves you craving his touch even more, but then he just stops abruptly or sends a quick ~gotta work~ and he’s gone. You know they’re busy and that’s fine. Dean is a bit more crude, striking up a conversation at random hours just in the hopes that you will send him pictures of your naughty bits, and you make each other laugh, which is a good sign since he left angry and hurt for reasons still unknown.

Turns out Sam was spot on with all three of those victims being virgins and according to Cas they are very close to finding the dicks that are doing this, but the bad guys have managed to kill 2 more virgins since the boys have been gone and you feel so bad for all those poor girls, which is what you tell Cas. He agrees with you in that deep gravely voice, “I know. I feel badly for them too.” His lips tighten at the thought of what is happening and you see his shoulders slump just a little. You push on Castiel’s leg with your toes and tell him to cheer up because the guys will get them soon enough and then no one else has to die. Holy shit! Your eyes go wide in surprise as you feel that electric charge and that tingling pull… towards Cas! In the days that you’ve known him, you’ve never once touched him, and now you quickly pull your legs in tight, no longer stretching across the couch and the angel stares at you, his focus intense, and you just stare back.

You study him in the silence that follows, analyzing this new feeling, and you realize that you haven’t really paid much attention to him these last couple of days. When you first met Castiel your mind noted his handsome features, but he was intimidating, which overrode everything else and you’ve never really looked at him since. You do now and he really is pretty damn hot, and those eyes, deep pools of azure that always seem like they’re looking straight into your soul are so beautiful. On top of that little revelation, Cas really has been good company and you enjoy being around him now that you’ve adjusted to his quirks and you wonder if angels are schooled in certain areas of human interaction. As you both continue to stare, confusion slowly creases Cas’s eyebrows and his lips purse as he cocks his head, examining you back. Strangely, the silence between you isn’t awkward and you find yourself beginning to think things, irreverent naughty things, about this angel who sits only feet away. Would he moan as you nibble at his jawline and drag your lips across his stubbled cheek? You wonder what an angel tastes like and you absently lick your lips at the thought. Castiel finally breaks the mutual stare between you and his eyes shift down to his own crotch for a moment, his confusion deepening across his features, and then he looks back up at you before he flatly states, “I have to go.” And he is gone in a blink; the fading sound of wind through wings the only remaining evidence that Castiel was there.

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What in the holy crap was that! Cas doesn’t come back and you’re ok with that because you spend the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what happened. All you did was touch him and now you can’t get him off your mind, just like the Winchesters, all three of them are now crowding your brain and slowly driving you mad. You mull it over and over and it’s only when you begin to think outside the box do you begin to see the light. Exactly. The light. The blue light from that vial belonged to a Cupid, and what do Cupid’s do? Duh. Everything suddenly starts to make sense and you could kick yourself for not figuring this out earlier. You start researching. You aren’t sure what to look for but you hope that good ole lady luck will help you out. You find a book that appears to have a legit description of a Cupid angel, nudity and all, and it describes the many ways that they can work their mojo. Touch is a major part of how they transfer their power and it fits. The brothers obviously had to pick you up to bring you here and then carry you to the room that is now considered yours while unconscious that night, so their hands were all over you. With Cas, you didn’t feel it until you touched him, that’s when the connection started, like a hook and line are now attached to him. Wait. A line; like a lifeline. You concentrate for a moment and you can suddenly feel it, like three strings tugging at your chest, the connection. That crazy ass connection you’ve had. No wonder you could explain yourself without having to say a single word, you are literally connected to them and everything has suddenly become so crystal clear. You slump back in the chair and stare blindly at the library wall while you think about what all this means.

A million thoughts swirl through your head, some good, some bad, some salacious, others totally sappy. How does Cupid power work? Do they just make you want to have sex all the time? Probably not; then is this some twisted perversion of their power? Maybe. Are the brothers only acting this way because of this weird power? You really hope not. Maybe it enhances what’s already there. A girl can hope right? Can you control them? Make them do whatever your naughty mind can come up with? That is so wrong but also super hot, and it probably doesn’t work that way. You don’t think Cupid power should give a person control, but maybe it’s like a catalyst, like when alcohol removes inhibitions… like beer goggles in a bar. You chuckle at that comparison. So what will it be like when the boys get back? Strange probably. Do you tell them? How on earth do you start that conversation? Wait, maybe they’ve already figured it out and aren’t telling you. No… you don’t really see that happening. Ugh, this is all so frickin’ crazy! After a while your head begins to hurt from thinking so much and you need a distraction, badly. You go cook yourself some dinner and then attempt to shut off your brain with a movie.

Halfway through the flick, your phone rings. You’ve kept it by your side every minute of every day since the Winchesters left and you find yourself snapping it up quickly and pressing it to your face like its air you need to breathe. You didn’t even look to see which one was calling. It’s Sam. “Hey there.” He sounds a little bit unhappy, like he’s trying hard not to sound disappointed. “We’re wrapping up here and should be on the road in about an hour. We’ll be there by morning.” Your heart soars at that news and you ask if they got the bastards. Sam sighs heavily into the phone, “No. I’m sorry. We didn’t. We screwed up and I’m sorry. They managed to complete the sacrifice, which means they’re one step closer to opening the cage.” Sam sighs again, obviously angry, disappointed, and blaming himself. “We just…“ there is a weighty pause and then Sam finishes with, “We’ll both see ya soon.” The call ends and you feel so bad for Sam. You’re sure that both of them did everything they could to stop those douche-bags but who knows what kind of odds they were up against. Despite the bad news of failing, the good news of their return is having a much larger impact. You are suddenly giddy and unfocused and you wonder how on earth you will ever sleep through the night because the Winchesters are coming back and you cannot wait to see them!

  
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The bunker is tidied up, you’re freshly showered and wearing your shirt/skirt combo. Five days away from them is way to long because you’re so amped up and aching that you aren’t even wearing panties and you only have one thing on your mind as you wait. You are practically vibrating out of your skin by the time the bunker door makes the familiar clang of being opened and it takes everything in you, not to go barreling up the stairs at them. You notice that the boys don’t look anything at all like they did the last time they came back from a hunt. This time they look clean, well rested, and almost jovial as they both flash you huge smiles. You watch them make their way down the spiral staircase and you see that, failed hunt or not, they’re in a good mood and you bet it’s because they are as happy to see you, as you are to see them.

You swear it takes forever for them to get down the stairs and you suddenly lose all patience and all control. Sam is first in line, barely two paces across the room before you close the space quickly and wrap your arms around him tight. The connection is more vibrant now that you know it’s there, and you easily send and receive information, telling him silently that you’re so happy to see him and he has tormented you so badly. You feel his returned affection laced with palpable lust, as your bodies remain entwined in a warm embrace. Your body is humming with pleasure at the knowledge that Sam ached without you near him and it feels so good that the world completely melts away and your hands thread up into Sam’s beautiful long hair and you pull him against your waiting lips. It is not a chaste kiss; it’s breathy and hungry, an expression of how much you missed each other and you revel in it.

There is a loud, abrupt clunk that refocuses the world, and you suddenly realize exactly what you’re doing and exactly who else is standing in the room. Fuck. You forgot about Dean who’s standing at the bottom of the stairs. The noise was the bag dropping from his hand so he could fold his arms across his chest, and you note the raging scowl that’s marring his handsome face. No no no no. Dean. No. You peel away from Sam, your eyes locked on Dean and out of desperation you come at him like an attack. Dean isn’t expecting it as you push him backwards and the bottom step makes him lose his balance. His arms unlock and flail outward as he lands two steps up on his ass with an angry bellow. Dean looks shocked as he starts to spit out an angry, “What the Fu….” He doesn’t get to finish that sentence because you’ve climbed on top of him, your thrusting tongue swallowing his protest. Dean’s temper is quickly melted by your sudden affection and he immediately kisses you back despite his hurt pride, and his hurt ass, because he is just as hungry for you as you are for him. You harness the connection between you and demand that he to tell you what’s wrong with him as your fervent tongue continues to devour him. Your actions are making it really hard for Dean to fight or focus, and you feel the wall he’s put up crumble and the emotions start to flow. He’s envious of Sam. So that’s his problem? You continue to claim Dean’s mouth hot and hard and he claims you right back, holding you tight, like he doesn’t want to ever let you go as his emotions continue to roll over you. He is jealous, jealous and hurt because he knows about you and Sam. That night, after they fought over walking you to bed, Dean waited, he snuck to your room in hopes of another tumble but you were with Sam. Oh how you were with Sam. You feel the resentment and envy almost seeping out of Dean’s pores as you pull the information from him and it suddenly makes you really fucking angry. You rip yourself from Dean’s mouth and then watch yourself, like an out of body experience, as you slap him soundly across the face. He sits there stunned, his eyes wide and his lips still slick from your kiss. You stare at Dean. He is such a stupid, jealous, fucking gorgeous man and you can’t help but want all of him as he sits there speechless and confused and you dive back into his mouth with an angry growl, sending those emotions through to him at full throttle.

You can feel Sam’s smile, even though you can’t see it, and it makes you conquer Dean even harder knowing that he’s watching this. You continue to pour your emotions through the thread you have with Dean, willing him to understand that there is nothing to be jealous of; you want them both, you belong to both of them, you need him, you need Sam, you can’t be without either one of them and he has no right to be so damn greedy. You feel Dean’s wheels turning, the jealousy and angst melting away as they’re slowly overcome by the acceptance of how you want, no, how you need things to be. Dean’s tongue is still entwined with yours when he suddenly launches himself up off the stairs. He breaks away and attempts to steady his breathing while taking a step back from you. Dean stares into your eyes, and you see the desire burning behind those emerald orbs as his fingers brush your hair back so he can rest his palm against your cheek. He silently admits that he understands now and you lean into his touch, glowing at the affirmation, knowing that everything will be ok now. 

Then things get real interesting. Dean looks to Sam and gives him a little wink, and then he turns back to you with you a wicked wicked smile. What’s going on? What devious plan just hatched that you are unaware of? Dean’s smile is still spread wide across his face when he quietly states, “Tag. We’re it.” It takes you a moment to fully understand what that means. “One.” Dean purrs, the desire in his eyes burning brighter. You step back, letting his fingers slide from your face.

“Two.” Sam quietly chimes in as he takes a step closer, his grin just as lecherous. You look from one brother to the other; your eyes like saucers and your flight instinct kicks in, making you panic for no reason.

“Three.” Dean’s grin is filled with playful malice, and you run. Adrenaline courses through your veins and you’re terrified as you bolt from the room and down the hallway. You head to the kitchen, why the kitchen? Who knows, but you cower behind the table for lack of a better plan. Your brain is churning with unfounded fright and the thought of being caught is terrifying. Wait a minute? Hold the frickin phone! Why are you scared? You force yourself to think for a moment, wrestling with that stupid instinctual feeling of being prey and you manage to calm your mind a bit and you begin to chuckle. You big dope, they aren’t going to hurt you so why are you frightened? Exactly. There is no good reason for any of that so the feeling of stalked prey slowly slides away, and you continue to chuckle, shaking your head at your silly reaction. As the fear disappears, it’s replaced by the desire that’s still roiling deep within and your mind begins to churn with a multitude of devious thoughts, which is much more fun than fear. Thoughts of exactly what will happen when, not if, they catch you and your body tingles at the possibilities. This is a salacious game of tag and you feel that the grand prize will be beyond your imagination; so, you decide to play. Doesn’t mean you have to play fair though.

You breathe deep and focus on the connection. You can feel them both and now that they’re within short range you know exactly where they are; they’ve split up and Dean is getting close. You’re cheating at this game but you don’t care as you slip out of the kitchen and head for another part of the bunker away from the approaching older brother. Your pocket buzzes and you grab for it quick, afraid to make any noise as you pad quietly through the passages. It’s Sam and you hold your breath while opening the text. _~You can’t hide forever and trust me, you don’t want to.~_ Those words send your heart rate through the roof and heat straight to your core. You find a place to tuck away and you nibble on your lip, biting back a smile, as you text back, _~Why would I let you catch me?~_ Opening up the connection to track them means you can feel what they want and your body is humming because they crave you and it’s feeding back through the threads and sending spikes of lust throbbing through you with each devious thought they have. Dean makes you chuckle because his mind is like a porno on repeat with you as the star and Sam; oh Sam, such naughty thoughts play through his head as he slowly stalks the halls. The phone buzzes again. _~You’ll find out when I catch you.~_ Your breath hitches and your whole body quivers at that response.

You play the game for a while, hiding and dodging them easily because of that strange little radar, but it becomes hard to concentrate, their urges feeding into you and building on top of your own. They finally manage to box you in and there isn’t much you can do about it other than to pick where they’ll find you. It’s a hallway near Dean’s room and as always, there are multiple doors. You naturally choose the one that’s open and you immediately realize you’re standing in what must be Sam’s room. You don’t have time to take in the scenery because you feel both Dean and Sam getting closer. You’re facing the door and you can’t see them, but you know that Sam is approaching from the right and Dean from the left. They are frighteningly quiet, true predators as they lurk in the hall, one brother to each side of the door. Despite that, you suddenly have to stifle a laugh because you can sense what they’re doing. These master hunters, Sam and Dean, are hiding in the hallway, quiet as mice, playing rock paper scissors to see who will get to have you first. You giggle silently, marveling at these two sexy, gorgeous, crazy goofballs!

Either Dean knew he would lose or he just wanted to one up his brother because you watch him plow into the room before the last round is finished and you see Sam grab for him unsuccessfully with a full-on bitchface. Dean doesn’t give a single fuck what Sam thinks as he closes the space quickly, presses himself up against you and hungrily devours your lips, claiming first prize for himself.

Sam is close behind and he isn’t about to let Dean get the best of him, so his long arm snakes around your waist and you’re pulled from Dean’s embrace. He isn’t as greedy, leaving room for Dean to edge in beside him as Sam drinks heavily from your lips with a lustful moan. Dean attacks your neck as he nudges in further, one hand massaging your ass and the other pebbling your nipple through the layers of fabric, causing you to quiver. Then Dean’s fingers clamp on your jaw and he pulls your mouth from Sam so his own tongue can dive deep into you. You are drowning in the attention, Dean’s tongue still claiming territory, as your one hand is mindlessly planted on his wonderfully firm ass while he grinds his bulge against your leg and your other is massaging Sam’s achingly tight crotch. Sam’s hand starts to gingerly slide up your leg till his fingers brush your bare sex and you feel Sam’s crotch twitch in your grip and a moan of approving pleasure hums against the skin of your neck where he nibbles. You gasp into Dean’s mouth as Sam slides two digits up into your quivering heat and he maintains a rhythm that makes your knees weak, forcing Dean to catch you before they buckle completely.

Once you’re back on solid footing, you’re free to breathe your own air as Dean lets go so he can pull your shirt up and off. Sam’s fingers never cease their pleasant invasion as Dean works at unhooking your bra and then Dean engulfs your bare breasts in open-mouthed kisses, shots of pleasure mixing with the bliss of Sam’s fingers. Sam claims your lips and he steals your smoldering moan away as a climax rolls over you. Your moan turns into a cry of relish as you convulse, the two of them slowly melting you into endless surges of rapture. “Mmmm. That’s it. We’re gonna make you feel so good.” Sam breathes against your lips; his fingers still stimulating you while you grip his crotch instead of massaging it, unable to move as the waves of bliss continue to roll over you. Dean suddenly disappears and you ache for him in his absence, but he’s still within line of sight and you watch as he peels off his clothes, haphazardly throwing them as he goes. You continue to watch Dean as Sam yanks you in tightly, his fingers finally sliding out of you so he can wrap his arms around you. He pulls you tight against as much of him as possible while he has the chance, his tongue sliding between your swollen lips, relishing this moment alone and you respond by melting into Sam’s kiss and wrapping yourself around him.

You barely register the feel of Dean’s hands pulling down your skirt but then Sam steps back, tongue still tangling earnestly with yours, as his arms disappear from you only to be replaced by the feel of Dean’s warm breath on the back of your neck and the pleasure of his naked body pressing hot against yours. Sam’s mouth follows yours, continually locked, as you lean back into Dean. Dean’s arms wrap around your front and you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your bare ass as he tilts his pelvis into you while nibbling your shoulder with a throaty hum. Sam’s tongue is ever persistent, never ceasing its play as his hands suddenly reappear, gripping and teasing your breasts and thumbing at your nipples. You begin to fumble with the zipper of Sam’s pants and he abandons your breasts so he can unbutton his shirt and his kisses stutter as you unhook his jeans and his shirt slides off his shoulders onto the ground.

Then Sam is gone, striping off his clothes, and half of you feels so cold without him. Dean takes the opening and spins you around, claiming your mouth for himself, hungry kisses against your slick lips, and he starts to walk backwards toward the bed, steering you with him. One last deep dive of his tongue and then Dean breaks away so he can flop down on Sam’s bed. Once he’s settled, he gestures for you to follow, “Get up here girl.” Dean’s voice is light and playful, his eyes shining with lust and you immediately obey, craving those delicious angelic lips of his. You crawl up Dean’s body, between his spread legs, and your breasts drag lightly up his skin until you press them firmly against his chest, your tongue sliding into his grin. You explore deep as you moan against each others lips, and you run your hand down his chest till you find Dean’s aching cock and you slowly begin to stroke. “Mmmmm yeah girl. Fucking magic fingers.” Dean’s eyelids flutter shut at your touch and he tilts his pelvis into each pump.

You are quickly reminded that there is more than one Winchester in the room when you feel the bed give under the weight of Sam. Shivers run through you as his hands slide up your back, around to your breasts, and then back down to your hips. Sam sucks in a sharp breath as he slowly sheathes deep into you, and Dean’s hands are threaded into your hair as you let out a pleasured purr against his lips, reveling in the luxuriant feel of Sam’s cock filling you thoroughly. Sam begins a steady rhythm that sets your body jolting with each thrust, his hands kneading your flesh as he moves, and mixed with Dean’s attention to your tender nipples and aching lips you get lost amidst the ecstasy. “Let’s put those beautiful lips to better use.” Dean quietly hums against your mouth and you watch as he shifts upward, his delicious mouth moving out of reach as he rearranges the pillows so he’s propped up against the headboard. Sam continues thrust after blissful thrust behind you while your gaze finally breaks away from Dean’s face and your eyes skim down his body and come to rest on your own hand, which is still stroking his twitching cock. It looks painfully hard and you’re all too eager for the taste of Dean as your lips slide down his shaft like warm silk. You smile at his groan of approval and his hand threads into your hair while his muscles tighten in response to the overwhelming sensation of your mouth pleasuring him.

You begin to match Sam’s rhythm, gulping Dean to his root with every firm thrust from Sam and you bask in the splendor of being filled completely with these gorgeous men. You revel in the shared bliss of it all, listening to Sam’s grunts and feeling him tense against the building tide mixed with the sight of Dean writhing beneath your lips, lost in the elation of your attention. Dean isn’t going to last long, sensory overload from this insane scene mixed with the fervent strokes of your lips are driving him to the edge quickly, and he’s trying so hard to hold back. Dean begins to pull on your hair, attempting to stop you, but you want to make him cum and this time you WILL make Dean Winchester cum before he wants to. “Jesus Christ woman.” Dean has both hands in your hair now as he begins to twist under your assault. You work him harder, picking up speed as you do and you feel Sam matching your pace and it’s taking you to the edge right along with Dean. What sends you over that very edge is the knowledge that Sam is watching you, feeling his gaze follow your head while it bobs in time with each stroke as his brother struggles beneath you with tormented moans. That thought shoots salacious gratification straight to your molten core and another climax rolls through your body, causing you to gasp out a cry around Dean’s tortured shaft.

Dean jolts, his head curling down, and you feel his eyes watching as you try to maintain the rhythm while your body shudders in ecstasy. You hear Sam breathing through each clench of your sex and he rides you through it, his strokes reverberating the pleasure so that your orgasm seemingly never ends. Then you hear Dean gasp, “Jesus fuck…Nnnngh.” He grips your hair and his head whips back, his breath catching in his throat as he explodes hot into your mouth. You’re forced to swallow as Dean holds you, his muscles straining tight with the revelry of the moment; and then he squirms, quietly begging you to stop between heavy inhales, his sensitive member reaching its absolute limit. You release him, resting your cheek against Dean’s heaving abs as you catch your own breath, his hand still holding your head, his fingers lightly stroking your scalp. Your focus returns to the climax that is still vibrating through each thrust from Sam’s cock and you purr into Dean’s skin as your body tenses and convulses again.

Your revelry is interrupted when Sam’s large hand wraps around your neck, hauling you upright onto your knees so you match his stance. He’s no longer inside, your body now devoid of either brother, and you feel so empty, yearning to be filled again. Sam presses you against him, the planes of this chest warming your back, his cock hard and unforgiving against the crack of your ass, and Dean remains spent and recovering below you. Sam’s fingers gently stroke the skin of your neck, and a quiet chuckle at his brother’s expense hums against your skin as he nibbles and nips at your shoulders. You drink in the sight of a very wrecked looking Dean who is now watching as Sam begins exploring all of you with his other hand. You whimper and tense, the muscles in your neck pulsing beneath his gentle hand as you relish the feel of Sam’s skilled fingers. He plays, teasing your nipples, sliding his hand down your body and brushing your hypersensitive sex and then repeating the path over and over, all while your eyes are locked on Dean whose eyes are fixed on you. His cock is still recovering, lying flaccid across his thigh but you can see the lust in Dean’s eyes, his attention fixed on the entertainment your writhing body and carnal sighs provide as Sam continues to relish the feel of you.

This is the eye of the storm, a quiet indulgence as Dean recuperates and Sam pulls himself back from the brink where he’s been teetering. Sam gets off the bed and takes you with him, crushing you greedily into him as he licks his way into your eager mouth. You get lost in the feel of Sam as he curls around you, encasing you in the warmth of his body as he hungrily devours you. Then you suck in a deep breath when Sam’s lips glide down your neck and he leans you back so that he can lick and tease your breasts while sliding two fingers back inside your slick sex. Your hand snakes into his hair, an appreciative sigh escaping, as you look over at the bed, curious to see if Dean is watching. He certainly is, those emerald orbs soaking up the view and his hand is gently pumping his shaft back to a hardened stone. The sight of Dean stroking himself sends waves of salacious craving through your body, and you shudder as Sam continues to feast on your breasts, the rhythm of his fingers making your sex quiver, hungering for more.

Dean gets his second wind and he crawls off the bed and roughly pulls you away from Sam while quietly growling into your ear, “Enjoyed that, didn’t ya?” Dean’s teeth clamp down on your neck and he sucks on your flesh, sending tendrils of pleasure through your body as he leaves a mark. “Well I’m back and now you’re mine.” A shock of desire pulses through your body at those words and anything you have to say is stolen by Dean’s fervent tongue as he presses hot against you. Then he spins you around to face Sam who swoops in quick and steals another deep kiss from you before Dean presses on your back, forcing you to bend over. Your legs spread and plant and you grab onto Sam’s hips so you don’t fall over, exactly what Dean wants as he slides his renewed member deep into your heat without warning. You gasp, the top of your head grinding into Sam’s hipbone as the euphoria washes through you. Sam’s cock twitches against your cheek as you turn your head so you can look up at him. His eyes are locked on you and a lustful smile tugs at Sam’s mouth as he brushes your hair back, his palm lingering against the back of your head. You gasp against Sam’s skin again as Dean gores you, his pace relentless and aggressive, stirring that molten core of yours.

Sam purrs a quiet note when he curls his hip just enough to nudge you with his ignored and aching shaft and you don’t have to be told twice. Your lips slide down its length and Sam hisses with pleasure as you envelop him, a purr of your own humming against his cock. The fog of resplendent bliss is intoxicating and you find yourself drowning, lost in the feel of Dean hollowing you out and of Sam filling you up. The world disappears and there is only Sam and Dean and pleasure. You feel Sam beginning to tense, his hand clutching like a vice in your hair, and he can’t hold still. You’re making him feel too good and he hasn’t been far from the edge for quite a while now. Sam begins to rock his hips into you, forcing you to wrap your hand around the base of his shaft so you don’t choke on his length. Dean continues to power into you as Sam suddenly throws his head back and a loud feral growl accompanies his hot release behind your waiting lips. “Ha ha, fucking yeah girl.” Dean laughs and you know there’s a big, sexy as fuck, grin on his face as he snaps his hips into you harder, enjoying the show as Sam heaves in a deep breath and steps back.

Dean takes the opening and he pulls out of you fast, shocking you with emptiness as he grabs you by the hair and pulls you upright, spinning you to face him. His lips mash against yours, his tongue thrusting deep and sloppy and then he tosses you onto your back, the soft mattress catching your fall. Dean stands at the end of the bed, lining you up, and then he pierces you hard and aggressive. Your back arches and you gasp at the sensations from the new angle as Dean begins to power into you. Sam suddenly appears, pressed against your side, and his tongue dips between your parted lips. Your legs are wrapped around Dean’s waist and he’s gripping your flesh as he drives in deep and passionate and Sam lies next to you, his mouth continuing to hungrily claim you as his hand slides down and begins teasing your clit.

It’s too much. You’ve lost count of you’re orgasms at this point and yet another one rolls through, this one more blinding and intense than the rest as the brothers overload all of your senses and you drown in the euphoric wave of glorious indulgence. Every muscle pulls tight, your sex clenches around Dean’s relentless cock, you cry out loud and strained into Sam’s mouth, and you shudder and convulse through the resplendent response of your body’s pleasure. “That’s it.” Sam purrs into your gasping mouth, “So fucking beautiful.” His words are reverent as his fingers continue to enhance and prolong your climax. You feel Dean’s rhythm stutter through the haze of elation and you know he’s on the cusp. You let out another gasping cry as Dean powers his last couple of strokes deep and sharp, and he yells loud and proud as he releases hard and pulsing into you, his grip like iron. Your body is completely stiff, locked in a state of suspended pleasure and it’s not until Dean slowly slides out of you and Sam’s fingers finally cease their teasing play that you begin to thaw and rake in a labored breath. Dean crawls onto the bed and he mashes one of the pillows under his head as he stretches out. “Come up here.” His breathing is as ragged as yours while he beckons for you to move. You somehow find it in you to scoot up the bed and Dean’s hand warms your cheek as his thumb runs along your chin and then he kisses you long and deep. Sam slides up on your other side and patiently waits; then he brushes your hair back, tilting your head towards him and he takes a long drink from your exhausted lips.

You lay for a long time, drifting in and out of consciousness, your body completely spent and your muscles aching pleasantly from the strain of everything you just did. The brothers are like comforting heaters, Dean stretched out and pressed against one side of you with your head tucked in his armpit, cheek against his chest, and Sam is on the other side, lying up against you with his arm around your waist and his leg entwined with yours. It doesn’t take long for your chests to stop heaving and then everything settles into a comfortable haze, the steady breathing of both men matching in rhythm as you all lay in revelry and soon you all drift into an exhausted sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

  
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Sam is the first to disappear from the bed. You barely register the movement or the light kiss on your cheek, but one side of you becomes achingly cold so you roll, wrapping yourself around Dean who is contentedly snoozing by your side. Dean nuzzles into you, allowing you to rest comfortably in his warm embrace. Eventually your body rebels; insisting that you’ve had enough sleep even though you could lay in Dean’s arms forever. You untangle yourself from his heavy limbs and slide from the bed. As you collect your clothes Dean groans, and you look up to see him watching you while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Where ya running off too?” His voice is thick from sleep and his eyes are bleary and unfocused but damn it if Dean Winchester doesn’t still look fucking gorgeous. You smile and tell him the shower. He grunts and then flops back down on the bed, apparently satisfied with your reply. You giggle inwardly as you exit the room and find your way to the shower room.

One of these days you will stop taking so many frickin’ showers but you have a feeling that won’t happen until you stop having so much mind-blowing sex. You’re suddenly completely fine with the high volume of showers and you revel in the hot water as it pelts against your skin. You really don’t mind them anyways because they’re revitalizing and you can get lost in the flow of water and wash away the world for a bit, able to focus on exactly what you want as the water soaks your body, eyes closed to all distractions.

You’re doing just that, wandering within the world of your mind, when your heart suddenly leaps into your throat because a pair of strong arms is squeezing you tight up against a firmly toned body. “Boo.” Dean’s voice in your ear both frightens and relieves you at the same time. You rip yourself from his grip, turn, and smack him hard on the arm while explaining that he scared the ever-loving shit out of you.

Apparently Dean walked here naked from the bedroom and now the water is running in rivulets through his hair and down his body as his face splits into a huge satisfied grin. “Well then, mission accomplished.” It’s impossible to be mad at him and you grin back, your tension melting away like the water down the drain as he rewraps you in his eager arms. Your mind is more than willing, palpable lust and salacious thoughts playing through your mind, but your flesh is weak from the epic events of the morning. You wonder if you’ll have the willpower to say no to Dean as he presses up against you, his tongue dipping gently between your lips. You stand there pliant in his embrace, getting lost in the moment as the water showers down on you both and the answer is no, there is nothing on earth that would cause you to say no to Dean Winchester. He releases your lips and begins looking around, you aren’t sure what for, and his voice is laced with stifled amusement. “Hold on, don’t move.” His eyes lock on target and he leaves you standing under the water while he snaps up a bottle of body wash from the bench nearby. His grin is spreading back across his features as he saunters towards you while opening the bottle.

You really cannot say no, so you just stand there, waiting to see what Dean has in mind, hoping that your body can handle whatever it is he has in store. Without breaking his stride he presses right up against you, cold and almost clammy compared to your own temperature since being out of the water, and his grin melts into a passionate kiss. “Damn girl. You’re like a fucking drug.” You moan and pull him into you, stepping back so the water can wash him with its warmth. “I can’t get enough of you, and I’m sure as hell not complaining.” You smile against his lips with an affirming purr and wrap your arms around his neck. You can’t quite tell, but it feels like Dean is squeezing body wash into one hand as you keep his mouth wonderfully occupied. You hear the bottle hit the floor near your feet and you can feel Dean rub his hands together behind your back, the muscles of his arms tensing against your sides as he does.

Dean makes you step out of the flow of water and then you feel as his lathered hands begin to run up and down your back. He hums against your neck as he works and then shifts, bringing them around your sides and up between your breasts and then he spreads them so each hand slides up your neck and back down along your shoulders. Dean’s face is knitted with concentrated reverence, his hands worshiping you as he caresses. He leaves no part of you untouched as he slides down your arms, threads his fingers through yours, and then moves back up. You giggle when he gets to your armpit; it tickles and makes you self conscious at the same time. Dean gives you a warm smile that reaches deep behind those gorgeous green eyes and your awkwardness melts away. You see the adoration in his face, the devotion to owning every inch of your body with this little exercise and desire pools deep in your core at Dean’s attention.

He moves down to your breasts where he massages them with reverence, thumbing suds across each nipple, sending shivers down your body with each stroke. You bite your lip as you resist the urge to move. He didn’t tell you to stand still but you know it’s what he wants. This is his moment to play and as he works his way down to your hips and around to your ass you realize that Dean is being uncharacteristically quiet. He presses into you as his fingers knead your ass and then you blush and stifle a squeal when he slides down between your ass cheeks and back up again. Dean chuckles at your reaction and claims a lingering, playful kiss before he disappears. Dean squats at your feet, lathering up a fresh handful of suds from the bottle and then you feel him start at the top of your foot and you tense because that tickles like a motherfucker, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a girlie yelp.

One leg at a time Dean slides his hands up to your hip and then down, up the front of each leg and back down, up the back to your butt cheek and back down, up the inside to your knee leaving your inner thigh untouched, and then down again. One more handful of suds from the bottle and Dean stands back up and you see the delightful glint in his eye as both of his hands run up the inner thigh of your right leg. Shivers vibrate your body as he moves up and when his soapy fingers brush lightly against your sex you can’t help but run your hand up the back of his neck and grip his head, letting out a little sigh of pleasure. One of his hands slides up between your ass cheeks and the other glides up the lips of your sex and across your clit; your knees almost buckle at the delicious sensation of his touch and you gasp. You didn’t realize just how badly you craved his attention until that moment and Dean apparently likes your reaction because he comes in quick, stabbing his tongue between your lips with a moan and then he shifts so that he can run both hands up your other leg.

The same path, the same exquisite feel, and your breath is coming in short pants now as Dean wraps his arms around you, pressing in, his rock hard cock grinding against your pelvis. “You’re fucking gorgeous baby.” It feels like forever since Dean has said a word and what he chooses to say sets off little fireworks in your brain, stirring that molten pool even more. Dean Winchester is such a delicious man, and you want to return his affection just as much as you want him to fuck you hard and heavy right now. Guess you weren’t as worn out as you originally thought. You smile against his shoulder as he gingerly guides you under the rain of water and he begins to rinse the soap from your body, running his hands along your skin with the flow of the water, that same gentle reverence to his touch, and you’ve never felt anything more perfect.

All the soap is gone and Dean’s fingers are gently stroking the lips of your sex when you pull him in for another play of tongues, and you like using that special connection as you tell Dean it’s your turn, without saying a single word. He smirks against your lips, apparently intrigued by the idea and he steals one more kiss from you before he steps back, the last part of him to leave your body being his fingers sliding slowly from your tortured clit. His smirk is still firmly planted on his face as he watches you grab the bottle of wash and begin soaping up your hands. You find yourself shivering with anticipation, yearning to worship Dean Winchester like he did you.

You start at his neck, your sudsy hands pulling him in for a kiss before you begin. His tongue plays back but otherwise he doesn’t move, obeying the unspoken rules. Dean’s eyes follow you as you begin to explore, sliding your hands gently down his shoulders and arms, lacing your fingers with his just like he did yours and then back up, and you purr softly in appreciation at his well-toned arms. It’s like his gaze is observing every expression and every move you make and it’s a heady drug, seeing him watch you with such interest. You slide the soap down the smooth planes of his chest, noting that he is built of solid muscle like Sam but with just a little more give, just that extra little meat on his bones that adds the right amount of play to his skin and you want so badly to lick and nibble at his soap covered sexiness.

Dean’s head turns to follow as you move around behind him and his eyes flutter shut as he bows his head when your fingers glide up the back of his neck and into his hair where you massage his scalp for a moment. A quiet moan of appreciation escapes from him just before you bring your hands back down to feast on the blissful feel of his shoulder blades and lower back. Dean lets his head roll back, face to the sky, and he shifts his stance, planting his feet a little wider and you find yourself swooning as his muscles tense and ripple beneath your fingers. This man is a sin, no one should ever be built so perfectly and you have to bite back your own moan as you move back around to his front so you can properly cup and massage his magnificent ass.

With your hands still tight on his glutes, you gently lead Dean towards the water and he keeps his head rolled back, his eyes lidded, trusting you with where you lead him. The water pours over you first, warming your chilled body and then you pull him in and your hands begin to slide the suds from his skin. Dean looks so delectable and you can’t help it, you run your tongue up his neck, lapping gently at his stubbled skin. There is a moan deep in his throat and it vibrates your lips as he savors your worship of him. You nip at his jaw while your hands tilt his head so that his lips find yours and then you wrap yourself around him, wanting to crawl inside this gorgeous creature and feel every inch of his being. Dean’s arms come in tight, squeezing you firmly against him and he backs you up until you’re pressed against the column.

Dean leans his forehead against yours, water dripping from the tip of his nose as he stares into your eyes. His breathing is heavy with lust as he lifts one of your legs, bends his knees, and then as he moves back up, you feel his cock slide tight and hot into you. You gasp into Dean’s mouth as he fills you up and then you keep gasping with each upshot of his pelvis. It’s not a position where he can go deep but Dean is making up for that with the feel of his body flexing with power against yours and his hungry mouth stealing your breath. The showering water, Dean’s low grunts, and your own gasping moans are the only sound you hear and you realize again that he’s not talking. Dean is as quiet as a church mouse as he drives into you, gripping your leg tighter with each thrust, and devouring your lips with reverent need. You’re swimming through a fog of euphoria but you manage to focus on the connection for a moment, testing the flow, and you suck in a shocked breath with what you find. He’s not just fucking you; this is Dean Winchester making love, and what little capacity you have to think melts away as your orgasm shudders through your body with a strangled gasp against his skin. Dean pants against your ear as you curl around him, riding the bliss that reverberates through your body and you remain suspended in paradise for a time until he finally thrusts hard and fast, moaning with muted exultation against your neck as he releases deep inside you.

Dean remains pressed against you, unmoving other than to slowly lower your leg and run his hand gently up your side, his breath finally steadying to consistent warm blasts against your skin. You stay wrapped around him and he doesn’t let you go as he pulls you both under the water, his face still nestled against your ear and you both just hold each other, letting the water wash away the world for a time. Dean’s embrace is tender and your entire body is glowing with the affection that’s flowing through the connection and you nuzzle his neck, sending your own waves of adoration back at this god of a man as he holds you tight. It’s a moment suspended in time, one that stands out from the rest and you find that you don’t want it to end, ever, but it does, somewhat abruptly.

You feel the light sting before you hear the resounding slap that accompanies the sharp smack of Dean’s hand to your ass and you blush, stifling a giggle against his shoulder. “Damn girl, I need to take a shower with you more often.” Dean’s teeth graze your neck with a playful nibble before he steps back and flashes you his well-practiced charming smile. He’s back to his normal self as he gives you a wink and then he heads for the door, dripping a trail of water as he goes. “It’s almost lunch time you know, and I’m starving. Throw on some clothes and let’s find some chow.” You can’t help but smile warmly as you watch him leave, your body still tingling from the knowledge that you just claimed a piece of Dean Winchester that you’re sure very few others ever have.

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Sam was apparently of the same mind regarding lunch because you and Dean find him in the kitchen raiding the fridge. You all sit down and enjoy delicious club-style sandwiches and piles of unhealthy chips as you laugh and joke, the mood is light and fun as you eat and talk. When everyone’s done you shoo the boys away and insist on taking care of the dishes yourself. It’s purely out of self preservation because their legs were pressed up against yours again and they both kept stealing playful kisses, and despite the huge amounts of sex you’ve all had in the last couple of hours, you could still feel it building back up again, so you made them leave to keep you from wearing yourself out completely. You chuckle to yourself as you wash the plates, reminiscing and replaying the events of the morning in your mind.

You don’t rush and you even meander back to your room for a short bit before you mindlessly wander down the hall in the direction of the boys, the connection telling you where they are without you needing to think about it and it’s a good thing, because your time alone has only added to your distracted state. As you approach the library, you hear the muffled voice of Sam and you slow down to listen. “Yeah Dean, but what if we can’t stop it?”

“Sam. We’ll stop it.” Dean’s voice is sharp, full of wishful finality. Your good mood melts and you tuck into the corner to eavesdrop, worry etched across your face as you stay out of sight.

Sam blows out a frustrated sigh before he tries again, “Listen, I’m sure we will. We’ll track down these bastards and we’ll take care of ‘em, but we need a backup plan. You’re always telling me to follow your gut, isn’t your gut telling you to have a backup plan?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Dean pauses between each word with frustration before proclaiming, “But not that. I refuse to even consider that. It will not be Plan B… or C… it’s just, it’s not even a frickin’ plan. Not an option. We’ll find another way, ok.”

“Ok. I just. I don’t want to do it any more than you; I was just telling you what I found. I’ll keep digging and you’re right, we’ll find another way, there has to be another way.” Sam is defensive, unhappy that Dean thinks he would ever want to do whatever it is he mentioned. Must be pretty bad, probably something horrible like killing you or something. Wait…. You said that to yourself as a joke but it’s not funny, because you suddenly suspect that maybe, just maybe that’s the option that’s not an option. Holy shit that’s not cool! You keep listening because this is the first time you’ve heard them talk shop and you’re beyond curious, and a little scared at the same time.

“If they do get far enough to make the key, I’m sure killing him/her or it would be just as effective, so there’s always that.” Sam is obviously thinking out loud and Dean shoots him down.

“That’s assuming we ever find the key once it’s made, AND, can get close enough to kill ‘him/her or it’.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, well we know where the gatekeeper is and it takes two to tango so maybe we could find a way to bind her, but that wouldn’t be a guarantee.” Sam seems unsure about his suggestion but you feel like he’s desperate to find anything but the “that” mentioned earlier.

“Bind her how? She’s not a demon or you talking about a good ole fashioned hog-tie?” Dean is incredulous, sounding equally unhappy about all of this conversation.

Sam’s voice is tight and matter of fact when he states, “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?” Dean sounds stupefied at that. “Have you gone all Sabrina the Teenage Witch on me Sammy? Whattya mean witchcraft?”

“I mean a hex bag. A binding spell. Nothing too major but strong enough to hold her. It wouldn’t hurt, and in theory, it will keep her from the key until we can, you know, stop anything from happening.” Sam sounds uncomfortable and he doesn’t sound fully convinced of his own statement as he says it. Dean isn’t convinced either apparently and he shoots Sam down again.

“Well that’s just swell. We’ll just whip that right up and cast it on her when?” Dean pauses for emphasis, “When Sammy? Those guys are a couple of states over and who knows how many sacrifices away from getting the job done so do you plan on waiting till they knock on the door so you can say ‘hold on guys, I gotta do this thing real quick to foil your evil plot’?” Sam offers no answer so Dean keeps rolling, “Better yet, just go ahead and do it right now and we can set her in a corner and use her as coat rack. Your plan sucks Sammy. Really sucks.” Dean is on fire, tearing into Sam with righteous indignation and you feel kind of bad for Sam because he’s just trying to help, but honestly you really don’t like the sound of witchcraft and you don’t want to be a coat rack.

You can tell Dean is worried which is fueling his overreaction to Sam’s less than awesome suggestion and you hear the worry in Sam’s voice too, “Ok. Ok. Sorry. Didn’t think that one all the way through.”

Dean ignores his brother’s apology but his tone softens as he admits, “And we can’t keep her locked up in here forever Sam. I’m surprised she’s put up with it this long, if I was her I’d be riding Ozzie’s crazy train by now.”

“Yeah she’s been pretty awesome for sure.” Sam pauses, “We….. we’ll find those bastards before they can touch her. We WILL.” Now Sam sounds like Dean, full of wishful finality, “I just…” He sighs heavily, “I just wanna keep her safe, you know?” Sam’s sincerity is powerful.

There is a long pause, filled with silent emotion and then, “Yeah.” Dean’s sigh is just as heavy, “Yeah I know. Me too.” Not a flowery admittance but it’s enough to break your heart as you stand there eavesdropping and you could almost cry at how much these two brothers have done for you and the worry you’ve caused them, just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You hate seeing them down and out and there is another lingering silence in the library. You test the connection and you feel it, neither has anything else to say because their lost in their own dark and worried thoughts. You want the happiness back, you don’t want them brooding and brimming with angst, so without thinking you move forward. You hop up the library steps with a huge grin on your face and it’s taking all you have to look genuine.

Sam’s facing the doorway, slid down in his chair, legs spread out wide and long in front of him as his hand idly flips and taps a pen on the tabletop. Dean is opposite him; one asscheek planted on the table, leaning towards Sammy, his weight resting comfortably on his folded leg. Both of their faces were indeed broody, etched with sorrow and concern, and it takes them both a moment before they react to your presence. Once they pull themselves from their thoughts they look up, smiles immediately spreading wide as their eyes follow your entrance into the room.

It’s like a curtain being opened on a sunny morning, their smiles are brilliant and genuine and the mood immediately shifts upward and you no longer have to fake your own grin. You’re feeding as much positive happy emotions as you can muster through that thread to both of them, pulling from your memories with each of them as you play ignorant, pretending you didn’t hear a thing as you ask what they’ve been up to. You see a glimmer of pain flash behind Dean’s eyes and Sam’s smile tightens every so slightly before he answers. “Not much. Trying to do some research and failing miserably.” Sam’s feelings are a roiling mixture as you tenderly test the thread. His worry is being quickly beaten down, replaced by warmth for you and you can actually feel his arousal as he thinks of your morning activities.

“Yup. Sammy’s right. We are downright worthless, so let’s take the rest of the day off and do a whole lot of nothing.” Dean’s mind is similar and your eyes stay fixed on him as he slides off the table and comes around so he’s standing next to Sam. They are both such magnificent creatures and you like Dean’s idea, so you extend one arm to each brother. Electric tingles vibrate your body as they each grab a hand, Sam unfolding himself from the chair and Dean stepping closer than necessary as he threads his fingers between yours. You give them a smirk as you pull them gently towards the doorway, telling them that lots of nothing sounds like fun.


	11. Chapter 11

  
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“Nothing” turns out to be pretty damn fun. It was decided that you would all hang out in the man cave to watch tv or a movie or whatever but you end up mostly ignoring the screen. Instead you straddle Dean, tasting those delicious lips of his over and over as Sam watches with a wicked glint in his eye from the opposite end of the couch. After a bit, apparently even Sam’s patience has a limit because he roughly scoops you off of Dean’s lap and sets you sideways on his. He becomes gentle almost immediately, his fingers ghosting up under your skirt and tickling your inner thigh till his fingers brush against your panties, sending shivers through all of you as he steals kisses from your eager mouth. Dean leans against the arm of the couch soaking up the show as you whimper against Sam’s mouth while he plays. He smiles, and then gently bites your lower lip, sending a shockwave through you as his hand moves up to massage your breasts.

You are so worked up, hot and bothered for Sam, but you’ve had so much sex already today and you wonder when enough will be enough. Sam seems to sense your fatigue because he doesn’t push, he only teases, your arousal a lazy recreation for him as he stirs that pool of desire deep in your belly, and you purr, knowing he’s enjoying every moment of the torture he causes. Both brothers savor the little show you make, writhing with Sam’s skilled touch and your whimpering moans fueling their lust until you’re all basking in a drowsy haze of salacious comfort.

Everyone does eventually settle down, your head laying in Dean’s lap and his fingers playing idly with your hair. Your legs are stretched across Sam as he gently runs his hand up and down your calf in a soothing rhythm while you all chat and pass the time with jokes and stories, the movie turned off long ago. It’s so fun to listen to the two of them talk. They take cracks at each other, pulling out all the stops with embarrassing stories from childhood or silly stupid things that happened while on a hunt that wasn’t funny at the time but over the years the bite has softened, allowing the humor to show through. It’s a truly enjoyable afternoon and you have no sense of time, lost in the feel of unending comfortable contentment until Sam pipes up, “Hey guys, we should probably get some dinner.”

Dean looks down at you, and a grin spreads across his features, “You know what. We’re going out. All of us.” Your eyes lock onto Dean’s, making sure he’s serious before you get your hopes up to much.

Sam’s eyebrows are raised at this proclamation and he sounds apprehensive but also hopeful as he asks, “Really?” Your thoughts exactly.

“Sure. This poor wittle thing is gonna start looking like that fake-ass sparkly vampire, all pale and sad, if we don’t get her some fresh air soon.” You smile and poke Dean in the side for saying that with such a mocking voice and Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, knowing that’s just a weak excuse for Dean to do what he wants.

Sam doesn’t seem to want to argue though, because he gently taps your leg as he looks at you with a shrug and a smile, “Alright. Let’s go see if you sparkle.” It’s your turn for eye rolling as your legs swing off of him and you stand up. Dean peels himself up off the couch and ropes you in for a quick kiss, his tongue darting between your lips as he grips your ass, humming in appreciation as he squeezes. Sam dips his eyes to the floor, stifling a chuckle, and then he clears his throat; Sam’s subtle way of saying step off, it’s my turn.

Dean smiles against your lips and then pulls away, “Let’s hit the road boys and girls.” You grin as he saunters off, disappearing out the door. Sam pulls you in, his hot firm body giving you a good stir as he slowly licks his way into your mouth with an appreciative moan. He’s always so reverent when he claims you, even his aggressive sex and that thing with the tie was a form of benediction, and he’s reveling in your taste as his fingers sift up into your hair where he grips you tight, not allowing you to move until he allows it. You comply with no resistance and his attention reforms you, making you completely pliable and you abruptly want nothing more than to please him, to worship the graceful god Sam. He gently releases you, pulling at your bottom lip as he steps back and you feel it snap back into place before you open your eyes and see him drinking in the sight of you. “We better go or that dumbass will drive off without us.” Sam’s voice is thick with desire and laced with mirth; and you grin at him, savoring the effect you have on him, suddenly yearning to see exactly how much pleasure you could give him. Sam’s fingers thread through yours and then he leads you out the door without another word.

<<< >>>

It feels strange to be outside the bunker, it’s like your world shrank down to nothing but concrete walls and that was the only place that existed, and now the outside world seems huge and frightening. Your grip tightens on Sam and he gives you a gentle smile as you walk to the Impala. Dean locks eyes with him for a moment and runs his hand discreetly down the left side of his jacket, your connection with the boys telling you that’s code for “I’ve got the knife”. That should probably be creepy but it actually comforts you, knowing that they always seem prepared for anything. Dean slides into the driver’s seat as Sam, ever the gentleman, opens up the back door for you. This is one spacious car and you note the ample room in the back while watching Dean switch cassette tapes in the player up front.  Dean suddenly turns, eyebrows raised. Apparently he’s just as surprised as you are when Sam folds himself into the backseat next to you and shuts the door with a creaking thud. Dean stares for a moment and then just shrugs; turns the key, and slowly rolls the car out onto the highway.

Bench seats are the best thing ever made because Sam beckons for you as he scoots in, his long arms pulling you close as he presses his lips against yours. Making out in the backseat of the Impala was not originally on your agenda but as Sam’s eager tongue explores your mouth you wonder why this never crossed your mind. Sam’s kisses become more fervent, breathy and overwhelming as his hands grope your body, the connection telling you that he felt your willingness to please him and now he’s overflowing with pent up desire. You begin to loose yourself in the feel of him, Sam’s fingers gliding up your inner thigh just like before as your legs open without protest so he can brush lightly against your panties, the same salacious shivers vibrating throughout your body at his touch. You moan into his kisses, his fingers snaking up under the fabric so they can explore your bare aching sex. Sam has only been playing long enough for Dean to get up to speed on the highway but already, you feel yourself nearing the edge. Your lust is building up to unmanageable levels and just like it always does the world melts away. Before you realize what you’ve done, seeming to have no control over your actions, you feel yourself straddling Sam Winchester in the back of the Impala. It’s a tight fit as your tongue continues to play between Sam’s moaning lips but it feels so right to have him between your legs and the way his hands are caressing you just fuels you on harder.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice rattles you back to reality for a moment. “Come on guys.” He’s not angry; his voice is almost a playful whine, “Have a little decency will ya?” You peel your face from Sam’s so you can gaze at Dean. You can only imagine how you look, swollen slick lips and glazed eyes as you use the rearview mirror to lock eyes with him and flash a wicked grin. Your smile grows wider as you see Dean shift in his seat, his pants suddenly to constricting as he grudgingly goes back to watching the road. A flash of sensual heat runs through you when you realize exactly where you are, what you are about to do, and who is watching, and you dive back into Sam’s mouth, your tongue delving deep and aggressive. Sam equals your passion, his hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt so his powerful hands can massage your ass. “Just…. no bodily fluids on the upholstery, you hear me Sammy?” Dean is trying to sound stern but there is no threat in his voice at all.

“Shut up Dean.” Sam’s voice comes out thick, husky and sharp, heavily distracted as his lips reclaim yours while you quickly unbutton his shirt. Damn him for wearing an undershirt but it can’t be helped, at least you can still feel Sam’s muscles beneath the thin white fabric as he shifts, his tongue forever exploring your depths as he continues to grip and knead your body. You fumble with his zipper and by sheer force of will and a little luck you manage to unfasten them and shimmy Sam’s jeans and boxers down to his feet, exposing his shaft which looks painfully hard as it bobs against his undershirt.

Suddenly the engine of the Impala roars louder and music blares from the front speakers, Guns-n-Roses welcoming you to the jungle as Sam slides down in the seat, his legs spreading wide from lack of room, while his feet stay trapped together by his pants. You straddle him again and smile against Sam’s lips because you know that Dean is going to keep driving until you’ve had your fun and with this position you have complete control of Sam and that thought sends heat shooting straight to your core. Sam is a giant and his legs are so damn long but with him slid down, your panties easily press down against his aching member and you roll your spine, shifting into his massages as he teases your nipples and your tongue dips back between his lips. Sam’s breath is coming in deep pulling moans as you tease his cock and allow him to pebble your nipples into hardened stones.

You finally have to abandon Sam’s mouth, focusing so you can push your panties to the side, and you gasp as Sam’s cock glides into your wet and ready heat. Holy fuck it feels glorious to be filled up by Sam Winchester. You whimper against his hair as you curl around him, shivering through the blissful feel of him deep inside you and Sam lets out a muffled grunt of bliss, barely audible over the music. He recovers quickly; suddenly busy working your shirt up and off, followed by him unhooking your bra. You’re topless, straddling Sam with his dick stuffed deep inside you while Dean continues to drive fast and smooth down the highway and it’s fucking amazing. You begin to curl your pelvis, savoring the feel as you slide him in and out, your hands clinging tight to the back of the seat. Sam grunts in time with your rhythm as his hands grip your jiggling breasts, and every downward drop is a blissful shock to your core, sending waves of resplendent warmth through your body.

You continue to move, riding Sam at your own maddened pace, spurred on by the knowledge that Dean is catching glances of you any chance he gets, his appreciation of the show feeding through the thread, hot and salacious as you fill yourself up with Sam again and again. And fuck if Sam isn’t wrecked as you ride him hard and unrelenting. His jaw is set, his eyes glazed, yet focused on you as he strains to hold out as long as possible. “God woman… you…. are… so amazing.” Sam’s strained voice of reverence in your ear fuels you on and his worshiping hands continue to pinch and tease your tender nipples as he fills you up so perfectly and it’s sending you to the edge fast. The song ends and it’s suddenly incredibly quiet other than Sam’s grunting moans, your passionate sighs and you hear Dean suck in a wanton breath, and it all mixes together, shooting straight to that craven pool and you’re gone. Your body shudders, your rhythm breaking as your orgasm spreads through every molecule and Sam grips your ass tight, keeping you moving as your body goes rigid with ecstasy.

Another song kicks on over the speakers but you can still hear Sam’s grunts, air rushing past his clenched teeth, his eyes wild, and every muscle he has begins to pull tight, “Nnnnnn God. Nnnnn fucking….” His head pushes back against the seat, his eyes squeezing shut as you see him losing it and you thrust down in a hard and fast frenzy because you want to make him cum so fucking hard. You gasp loud, reveling in the feel of his twitching cock as it bursts hot, deep inside you, and you don’t stop moving until his hands press you down against him so you can’t move and your body quivers at the sight of Sam Winchester unhinged and wrecked by your work.

You stay on his lap, savoring the moment as you lick at his pliant lips, your fingers threading into his hair while he does the same to you. You finally can’t handle that position any longer and you slide off, plopping down exhausted and content on the seat next to him. Sam doesn’t move, his chest still rising and falling in rolling heaves as his cock lays flaccid across his leg, his pants still down at his ankles. It’s a good look for him and you can’t help but smile at the view while steadying your own breathing. The music suddenly dissipates to a more manageable decibel and you hear Dean, “Dude. Pants.” Sam uses the rearview mirror to lock eyes with his brother and then he soundly flicks him off, rolling his head towards you with a smirk once he’s satisfied with Dean’s bitchface. You giggle as you grab your shirt and bra and then watch as Sam clumsily hauls his pants back up, spreading across the seat with his head in your lap. His long legs are folded awkwardly on the other end of the car so he can zip up his jeans and then he goes lax, content to remain as is. You trace your fingers along his jaw line and smile down at him, hoping he doesn’t move as you quickly dress yourself. Sam’s head stays on your lap and you settle in for the rest of the ride, running your fingers idly through his hair in the comfortable silence while Axl Rose knocks on heaven’s door.

<<< >>>

Good ole Bigerson’s. It’s not the same one Dean took you too and you begin to wonder how long Dean was driving because you were not paying any attention to the time at all. Typical of the Bigerson’s way, the building looks the same, the layout the same, and the people are all dressed the same; which is boring. But hey, it’s not the bunker and you are totally fine with it. Sam peels himself off your lap with a grunt and crawls out of the car while you and Dean roll out of the driver’s side. You’re parked off to the side again, in a discreet location near the back exit and Dean presses you up against the car for a hot and sloppy kiss “Damn you put on a good show.” Then he cracks a grin and jerks his chin in the direction of the front door. “Come on. I’m starvin’.” You slowly start to follow and Sam catches up quickly before you walk into the bright cookie cutter interior of the restaurant.

Dean grabs a table while you and Sam head to the bathroom for a quick clean up. When done, you stand at the sink for a moment, splashing your face with cool water in the empty bathroom. You’re still running on the high from your little stunt in the car but you’re also suddenly unexplainably nervous and you can only assume it’s because frightening memories are being slowly pulled out and dusted off without your permission. It’s not surprising since your last few moments at a Bigerson’s was not good and it’s slowly crawling out of the mental box you tucked it away in. You try to stuff it back down by ignoring it and focusing on the amazing bathroom sex you had with Dean and the delicious bliss of Sam straining with ecstasy beneath you not long ago, but your mind keeps flipping to what happened in the alley. That demon was horrifying and your heart races just thinking about it.

You replay the event in your mind, thinking maybe if it just has its moment it’ll go away. You remember the terror and surprise as he grabbed you, the way you felt helpless and you thought for sure he would kill you for less of a reason than just because it was fun. You shudder, your eyes looking haunted as you stare in the mirror. You notice the tiny line across your cheek, the hint of the cut you received that night and then you remember Dean, fierce and heroic, appearing like your white knight to save his damsel. It sounds so campy when you think of it that way but it truly was how it felt as you watched that monster die right in front of you, and the thought of Dean saving you changes your minds perception of him in that moment.

If you’re honest with yourself then you remember how cold and dead his eyes looked, the eyes of a killer as he twisted the knife in that monsters back but you can’t see him that way. It’s impossible despite that moment of merciless violence, and even despite his hang-ups of bravado and bluster, you only see Dean as a warm, caring, and lovable goofball. Your warped view of the world making what he did a comfort to you, which sounds insane, because murder should never be a comfort; but it was because you remember the way Dean was worried about you, the way he made sure you were fine and somehow that makes what he did ok. Focusing on Dean instead of the demon helps your heart slow its pace back to normal and you begin to feel yourself relaxing because both Sam and Dean are right outside in the dining room waiting… waiting for you to get out there and keep them company. You dry your face and hands, feeling warmth deep inside as you head out the door and a broad smile appears, dazzling the boys when you spot them at a booth in the corner and you’re ok.

Sam sits across from you and Dean sits way to close to your side as food is ordered, but you don’t mind at all. The conversation is light, as usual, and those darn frisky boys just won’t stop touching you, their legs forever pressed up against yours, driving you to distraction. It’s a wonderful dinner and everyone is in good spirits as you and Dean cut up and joke around, not caring if you get a little too disruptive, despite Sam’s reminder that you should keep it down. Sam is adorable, always thoughtful and worried about others and it makes you want to kiss him hard, but you decide he wouldn’t be to keen on that “disruption” so you settle for picking on him by losing your shoe so you can tuck your foot up between his legs, your toes teasing his balls and giving him a double dose of that electric charge you always feel when you touch. You see the glint in his eye and the rigid twitch to his body and you can’t help but savor it a little bit as you torment him. Dean, as usual, does what he wants; his hand idly rubbing up and down your leg whenever he isn’t busy shoving food in his pie hole, or his fingers will gently ghost up and down your arm, making you shiver pleasantly. You all finally decide it’s time to head back, and considering that everyone is worked up again, you wonder how the evening hours will be spent, and that thought distracts you horribly.

Dean pays the tab and the three of you walk out the front door, smiling and laughing. Dean gives you a wink and then tosses the keys to Sam, “Sammy. You always complain about not getting to drive, so here you go, my treat.” Sam isn’t pleased by Dean’s “generosity” and you watch as he stands by the car with a severe bitchface. Dean saunters up to the back door of the Impala with a look that says, ‘you got a problem with that?” and you sigh because it looks like you’ll have to break this up. There is certainly plenty of you to go around and you tell them exactly that, but you don’t get to finish the sentence. You’re interrupted by Sam’s strangled cry and the electric buzz of a taser. You don’t understand what’s happening as you see a bag cover the pained expression on Sam’s face just before he falls to his knees. You freeze, terrified and unsure of what to do. “Son of a bitch!” You’re eyes dart to Dean as he rushes past you, that murderous glint in his eye as he goes to help his brother. Helpless and useless, that’s how you feel as you watch him lunge at the assailant and then you hear that sick electrical sound again, followed by pain coursing through your body. Good god that hurts! You hear yourself let out a strangled cry just like Sam before everything fades to black and then your gone. 


	12. Chapter 12

  
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You hear the roaring motor of the Impala and the feel of the wheels on the road. “I’m bringing all three.” Who is that? You can’t see. “Because I didn’t know which one it was, ok?” The man sounds angry. You can’t move. “Just have everything ready, We’ll be …” You can’t focus, consciousness is slipping away from you and then, nothing.

Your head is swimming as you slowly come to, again, and you realize immediately that you’re somewhere unfamiliar, and that you aren’t alone. The first thing to truly register is what’s right in front of you, a metal spike protruding from the cold concrete floor with chains snaking from the forged loop at it’s top down to your feet where a heavy manacle hugs your left ankle. Then you see the strange markings scrawled across the surface where your head rests, markings that seem like they’re flowing from a central point, which is unsurprisingly the spike you’re currently chained to. The symbols are archaic and wickedly curved; you sit up and see them, spreading like angry scratches out into a wide perfectly drawn circle that is easily twelve feet in diameter. Surrounding this circle are candles, half melted and burning bright, no wind to disturb their presence as they light the area around you. Towards the direction of your feet is a huge… um… shrine is the only word you can find to describe it, and it’s large and looming, set tight up against the drawn circle. Candles, fabric, herbs, bones, blood, and a menagerie of strange and terrifying items you can’t identify are laid out or hanging or piled upon the ominous structure. Your eyes move from there and slowly scan to the right and you see what’s surrounding the rest of the circle. In perfectly spaced intervals, just beyond the candles are hooded figures sitting on their knees, all of them chanting in low guttural voices like a macabre monotone song and it’s really frickin’ creepy.

Your heart skips a beat as realization suddenly floods in past the haze of pain in your head; they have you, the bad guys have you! Adrenaline courses through your body, burning away any awareness of discomfort and you immediately try to get away, scrabbling to move, but you don’t even make it to the edge of the painted circle before you’re quickly stopped short by the manacle. You hear yourself crying as you crawl back to the spike and rip at it, followed by clawing at the chain, terrified and desperate to get away. There is only a tiny scrap of sanity in you at the moment, telling you that you’re surrounded and have little to no chance of escape and you should stop before you hurt yourself but the rest of you is a panicked mess. You grab onto that tiny morsel of logic, clinging to it in an attempt to calm down despite its horrible truth and you try to think, to observe, and you do quell the raging storm of thoughts a bit, taking deep steady breaths as you settle back down onto the floor, resigned to your fate. You don’t stand up because you feel safer, less exposed, while hugging the concrete and your eyes begin to take in the rest of the scenery.

It’s an abandoned warehouse; how cliché and it’s dark, very dark. There is no light coming from the few windows that you catch a glimpse of in the dim candlelight and most everything is lost in shadow. Large steel beams hold up the ceiling intermittently on either side and something grabs your attention but it takes a minute to process what you’re seeing. It’s something about the two closest steel beams. There’s something there. It finally clicks; each one has a crumpled Winchester tied up soundly at its base, their backs resting against the unforgiving metal with their arms circled behind them, laced up tight. Both of their heads are covered with burlap sacks, Dean is leaning at a painful angle with one leg tucked and the other out straight, and Sam looks like he’s resting comfortably, both legs spread out long in front of him. They look dead. Oh God they can’t be dead! You panic again, blasting open that connection between them, your fear rolling through the thread as you mentally grab for them. You feel them; you feel their minds. They’re alive! You breathe a sigh of relief at that revelation, wanting to weep for joy that Sam and Dean are still among the living and then you watch as they both begin to stir, probably shocked awake by your mental intrusion.

You cannot describe how happy you are to see them, taking solace in their presence despite their bound and blinded state, but then you’re immediately disheartened, because they are, in fact, bound and blinded and there is no way they can save you. Panic begins to boil back up again, this emotional roller coaster leaving you unable to act or move as you lay there helpless, chained inside this satanic circle with no one, not even a white knight or a guardian angel to help. Wait! You do know a guardian angel! You could kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner but you remember the angel; you remember Castiel! Your emotions coast back up, hope soaring inside you once again as you mentally grasp at the faint connection with him; noting that this is the first time you’ve ever used this thread. You cry out silently for Castiel to help you, to save you, to come quickly. You squeeze your eyes shut, sending every ounce of yourself through that tentative link and you pray that he hears you.

<<< >>>

A minute passes, then another, and still no Castiel. Your hope dims to a dull glimmer again, overtaken by helplessness as the unnerving chant never stops. The hooded figures are ominous, giving off a vibe that makes you wonder what’s under those folds of fabric. You’re mind is imagining what horrifying things lie beneath when movement catches your eye and you fix on a robed figure approaching out of the darkness, his sinister voice rising above the others with a different cadence. “Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos. Veni ad nos” Somehow you understand what he’s saying; you have no idea what language he’s speaking but you know what he keeps repeating, “Come to us.” What does that mean? It doesn’t matter because it fills your heart with fear and you cringe lower down on the floor as he mounts the stage, his chant never ceasing as it rhythmically raises and lowers in volume.

Then you hear it! It’s faint, but you’re listening for it, your ears trained to pick up the slightest hint of that iconic sound, and your heart races, hope swelling up once again. Wind through invisible wings. Castiel! Castiel the angel is here and he’s standing next to you. He’s so close you could reach out and touch him, and overwhelming joy barely begins to describe how you feel at the sight of him. His gaze locks on you as he looks down, his eyes filled with confusion, yours with both wonder and terror. His expression turns to determination as you feel him pulling information from the thread between you. It’s strange, you’re used to sending thoughts, not having them pulled from you and your eyes widen in awe. He stretches his arm, barely tilting his body and his fingers rest gingerly against your forehead. Electric tingles shoot through your nerves, a product of the connection with him, but there is also a soft glow. Your entire body becomes warm, suddenly refreshed, and the pain disappears while your mind becomes calm and sharp. You feel so alive, like you could run a marathon without breaking a sweat or swim the English Channel with no problem, and you are so grateful. You send all of your appreciation flowing through the thread to him; letting him know how much you are indebted to him for that simple gift. Castiel gives you the faintest hint of a smile and then he stops looking at you, instead he’s looking through you, his eyes focused on something other than the world in front of him and his face sets into a mask of veiled anger as he processes the knowledge that was pulled from you.

Castiel is pissed, angry at the demons that caused both you and the Winchesters pain. His eyes fix on the circle of demons and then he moves. With an unnatural swiftness, Cas closes the space between himself and the hooded figures with barely a whisper of noise. Not a sound; no footsteps, no growls of rage, nothing, and his anger is terrifying to behold as he shoves his hands beneath the hood of two of those eerie chanting beings. The fabric is blasted backward as their heads tilt to the sky, and you see that Castiel has a death grip on each of their faces and a blazing blue light suddenly bursts from their eyes and mouth in a rumbling scream of pain, their pain. You squeeze your eyes shut against the brightness. When you open them again the angel is releasing his victims, their faces smoldering with a sickening smoke as their bodies slump lifeless to the floor.

Castiel is beautiful and terrible and you see the fierce warrior within him as he moves to the next kneeling figure, his eyes burning a cold unnatural blue. You turn your gaze away, knowing what’s coming and you catch a glimpse of the rest of the room as you do. Sam is up, somehow free from his bonds and just before you close your eyes to another blast of blazing light you see him working on Dean’s bonds. When the scream dies away you know it’s safe to look again and both of the Winchester’s are up and rushing to help. Dean pulls the knife from his jacket and you watch the yellow electric shock flare beneath the hood of yet another robbed figure as he shoves the knife deep into the unresisting demon.

Sam is suddenly in your face. His hands brushing your hair back and he’s breathing heavy, full of concern and adrenaline. “You ok?” You don’t answer; you don’t know what to say. His eyes search you over and when he spots the manacle his eyes dart back up and lock with yours, “We’re gonna get you outta here.” You believe him. You always believe Sam and his hands disappear, moving down to your ankle so he can work on the bindings. You hear more screams and see a flash of both yellow electric light and the blazing blue white as Dean and Cas pick off two more. You watch the bodies hit the floor and then you stare at the final demon as he sits, complacent on his knees, still chanting. Why aren’t they resisting? It’s like they want to be killed. Oh shit!

You put the pieces together instantly. ~ **Within lies a great terror and only through the waive of maidens bountiful, decimation of the incidental patrimony, denigration of a devout, and sacrifice of the septenary may the gatekeeper petition the instrument of release, hence the sacrifices four shall be laid before the false throne and behold, the great key shall come unto you upon a broken frame and the consummation shall lay bare the gilded cage.~** They must have completed all the other sacrifices. The dais full of bones and bits and blood where the newest hooded figure chants is certainly the false throne and the demons aren’t resisting because they are the septenary, the seven loyal servants who sacrifice themselves to unleash the key. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Don’t do it! Don’t complete it! Please don’t! You hear yourself scream out a panicked no but it’s no use.

You watch in horror as Dean thrusts the knife into the last demon, his eyes cold and heartless as he twists for good measure with no recognition of your desperate cry. It’s too late. Damn it! Panicked, your eyes dart to the hooded man on the dais. He has a large ancient book open in his hands, his long thin fingers spreading the pages flat as he finishes his incantation, “Mortem timore et mahemium, ausaque offerimus key et doloris. Et sciendum nobis veniat.” What’s he saying? “From death, fear, and mayhem, we offer up suffering and pain to forge the key. Let it come unto us and be known.” You still don’t get how you know what he’s saying but it doesn’t matter because damn, damn, damn! It really is too late! As the last syllable is spoken you cringe, expecting some earth-shattering event but there is only a sickening pregnant silence and everything seems to freeze.

Sam has ceased his attempts to pick the lock of your manacle and is staring at the hooded man. Dean stands just outside the painted circle, ready to fight, spine tilted low, face etched with tight rage as blood drips from his wicked blade. Cas stands within reach of you like a statue, his shoulders squared, his jaw set as he too stares at the man, worried uncertainty playing across his features. You’re afraid to move and it’s so quiet that you can hear water dripping in the distance and the light patter of rain on the metal roof of the building. Dean is the first to crack; he always is the impatient one, and he plows forward, crossing the threshold of the circle. As soon as he steps across the painted line there is a searing blast of mind numbing light and your ears are assaulted by a horrible crackle, an ear splitting ring, and it’s all coupled with a single gut-wrenching bellow of excruciating pain. It feels like your body is being split apart by the light and by the sound, molecule by molecule you feel yourself separating, lost in numb nothingness. It doesn’t hurt. It feels almost pleasant as you feel yourself suspended, floating in an overwhelming emptiness.

<<< >>>

Then it all crashes down. Reality, feelings, noise, smells, pain, all of it comes flooding back and it suddenly hurts to be alive. You’re gasping, tasting the smell of sulfur, concrete dust, and the iron tang of blood in the air; even the musty moisture of rain flavors your ragged breaths. You feel your flesh scraping across the unforgiving floor and notice every thread of fabric in your clothing as it slides against your skin while you struggle to focus past the spots in your eyes. It hurts to much, so you close your eyes while everything continues to amplify; your lungs are loud in your own ears, the stippled groves of the concrete suddenly more prominent, and the feel of hot flesh resting against your cheek is hot, almost too hot. Wait… who? You feel yourself scooped up against someone, your body convulsing with pleasure at that level of tactile exposure and you swear the earth shifts with you. You feel the arm that’s circling you as it holds on tightly, its strength sending ripples of euphoria through you, the earth vibrating in unison with your reaction. Then there is a supple palm cupping your cheek with gentle care, gingerly holding you, and it feels wonderfully nice as his smooth flesh drags across yours. Then there are lips. Soft, reverent lips are pressing against yours and you’ve never felt a more perfect pair in all your life. You can feel every curve, every bit of stubble that scrapes your hypersensitive skin and his nose bumping against yours causes an unwarranted moan of bliss. You hear a sickening crack nearby, like the bones of the earth being shattered, but you don’t care. Those delicious tasting lips become eager, pressing in and then you shudder as his tongue slips in, exploring, gliding against yours and it tastes like sunlight.

You want to see him. You want to gaze upon this resplendent perfection that is claiming you. You concentrate on opening your eyes, on looking past the seared spots in your vision and he slowly comes into focus. His eyelids flutter open, feeling your gaze, and a bolt of desire convulses your body as piercing blue eyes lock onto you, all while that heavenly tongue continues to worship. Blue. Deep pools of azure. You know an angel with blue eyes. Blue eyes and soft lips, and…. Oh. Your mind finally clicks it into place. Castiel. Mmmmmm Castiel. You’re being kissed by an angel of the lord and it’s melting you away, leaving you nothing more than a slave to the feel of perfection as the earth continues to roar and shudder around you.

Sam and Dean are exceptional lovers, always making the world slide away while you revel in the pleasure of each other but this… THIS… well there is nothing else like THIS. Nothing else exists but you and the delicious angel who’s gently prying you open, laying claim to all of you with merely a simple kiss. You are almost gone, almost lost completely to the rapture of Castiel. The only thing holding you back is a little annoying tug; two threads that are tickling the back of your consciousness like an unfinished thought. You want to be left alone so you can disappear into the power and the beauty of Castiel, and even now you feel your soul reaching out for him, yearning to meld and become one but that tug is distracting, insistent. Sam. Sam is yelling, he’s frightened; and Dean, you feel his worry and you hear him killing, the last bit of life gargling from someone’s throat as the rumble of the earth accompanies that sickening sound. It hurts to open your eyes again, hurts to shift your focus from this resplendent being that is making love to your mouth while he gently holds you, but you look. You’re compelled to look, your connection with the Winchesters pulling at you like a child pulling on their mother’s skirt. They need you for something and you grudgingly give them a small portion of your attention.

Dean is trying to keep his balance against the bucking earth as he runs around the outside of the circle, headed toward Sam who is locked in combat with a demon you haven’t seen before. More demons? Yes, a lot more. At least a half dozen and they are zeroed in on the brothers. You should be more worried, deeply concerned actually, but you can’t, not when Castiel suddenly slides his fingers through your hair and presses you into a deeper kiss, oblivious to his surroundings, his attention focused on you alone. Your eyes fix on those blue depths again and they’re staring back; you let out a shivering purr, the earth quivering in unison, and you melt into him again, losing interest in the world around you just like Castiel. You want to please him, to show Castiel the same affection that he’s showing you and without ever letting your lips leave his, you move. You don’t know how and you don’t care, but with ease you find yourself straddling the angel’s legs and you spread his trench coat open and tilt him into you, pressing your breasts against Castiel’s crisp buttoned shirt. Another sickening crack of concrete nearby and again you don’t care.

Electric tingles are a thing of the past; this is so much more. Every part of you that touches Castiel is an explosion of blissful fireworks that rage through your entire body, pooling heavy and wanton in all the right places. You feel your fingers unbuttoning his shirt, untucking it from his pants and when your hands finally slide against bare skin you shudder and moan loudly into his worshiping lips. The earth shakes again. Cas likes your reaction; you can feel it, the connection between you an open highway to each other’s soul. He enjoys this feeling, he’s reveling in it because it’s not one he has often felt and his desire ignites bright and hot as he presses you against his chest and you hear him groan appreciatively. It’s gravely and rough, rattling deep in his throat and you find yourself shivering in time with its vibration, the sound of his voice alone almost enough to make you orgasm. It’s like the earth itself is agreeing as it shudders and bucks beneath you.

“Bloody hell! Break the fucking sigil you daft moose.” What was that? Grudgingly a small part of you is pulled from the heaven that is embracing you and once more you painfully open your eyes. Demons are fighting demons, the Winchesters are right in the thick of it and off to the side, right in your direct line of sight is a different kind of monster. There is something about him that keeps you distracted for a moment longer. He has power. Power and confidence, and his demeanor trumpets to anyone who looks at him that he’s the king whether you like it or not. The only question is, king of what? He’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and a tie that lesser men would kill for; his eyes are sharp and shrewd, gleaming with craven malice and his stance is one of feigned impatience, like he’s putting on a show for the fun of it. “You’ve got to get them separated or we’re all bollixed.” His voice is deep and scratchy, a British accent adding extra tone to his haughty arrogance. Who is this interesting creature?

“Well you could certainly pitch in a little Crowley.” Sam spits the words through grunting breaths as he holds a demon tight so that Dean can slide the knife between his ribs.

Separate? No. They can’t take you away from heaven. They can’t take this from you, they can’t. There is another groaning snap of the earth and hot tears begin to flow unwarranted down your face. Castiel pulls his lips away from yours and he stares at you intently. It hurts. It hurts so bad for him to be even that small distance away from you and the tears flow harder, “Please don’t cry.” He brushes the hair back from your face. “Your pain is my pain; your joy is my joy.” You suck in a breath at those words. His gravely voice is like a blast of healing ointment to the depths of your soul and it feels like love, genuine deep unadulterated love. You continue to weep but this time it’s from the joy, the feeling of this angels love flowing through the connection as he gazes into your eyes. You have never witnessed anything more beautiful and you sigh as Castiel holds you firmly, fervently worshiping you again with his reverent lips. The earth shudders again as the world truly drops away and you feel freed as your soul propels towards his, aching to entwine and be consumed by him, absorbed until there is nothing but his perfection. Radiant nirvana surrounds you, the glory of his being shattering your perception of reality. There is only Castiel.

<<< >>>

Happiness is taken away in an instant. Heaven is brutally torn from you. A sickening emptiness echoes in its place and Castiel is gone, ripped from you by some cruel unknown force. You feel sick, broken and aching as the world slowly comes back into focus. You want heaven back; you want Castiel back, you can’t breathe without him, the need crushing you heavily. Ravenous yearning swiftly turns to overflowing rage; rage at the loss of Castiel’s presence and his perfection. You remember that you have a body, a form that can find its way to the angel and you suddenly come alive, lashing out with unbridled wrath. You have no sense of what’s around you, all you know is that Castiel isn’t there and he is all you want, all you crave, and all you need. You feel firm muscled arms wrapped around you, pinning your own arms down by your side as you thrash, and words of hatred tumble from your mouth without permission while tears stream hot and salty down your face. “Woah girl. Woah. I’ve got you. Chill out.” You know the voice. It’s Dean, and you should be happy to feel him against you, but all you can think about is the angel, the heaven you’ve touched, the source of everything you must have to live.

You are cognizant enough now to realize that the earth has ceased it shuddering storm and you’re standing in the circle, still chained. Dean is behind you with his legs planted wide so he can sway and move into your movements and a dozen demons stand around the circle watching this spectacle. More uncontrollable rage bubbles up and you fight harder. Writhing violently, you feel the back of your head connect with Dean and you feel his jolt of pain, his arms reflexively tightening as he growls, “Fuck! Ow. Damn it woman, knock it off!”

You only settle a little bit, not because Dean said so, but because you want to get out of his grip and you look around for something or someone to help you. Directly in front of you is Castiel. Oh Castiel! So close, yet so far away as Sam holds his arms tight behind his back. Castiel isn’t fighting like you; he’s almost pliant in Sam’s grip as he barely tugs against Sam’s hold, his bare chest calmly rising and falling and his eyes are fixed on you. Those deep pools of blue are drilling into your soul, Castiel seeming to make love to you with just a gaze and when your eyes lock, the craving increases tenfold, your need for him unmatched by anything else you’ve ever felt. His desire is flowing heavily through the highway between you, feeding your fever for him as you start to struggle again. You send your impassioned frenzy barreling back across the link, begging him to come to you, begging him to claim you, to take all of you. You see Castiel’s thick erection pressing against his pants and you watch his pupils blow wide with lust as he experiences your salacious need in full force.

Cas’s chest begins to heave, his breathing becoming ragged, laced with wanton desire. You see Sam’s jaw tighten, anticipating the fight as the angel’s body begins to tense, but you and Cas are both suddenly distracted when you hear that dry arrogant voice again, his sexy accent dripping with sarcasm. “Well isn’t this just lovely. She’s got you all by the short and curlies. Makes a demon chuckle to see such a bawdy lot thinking with their small brains, especially you Castiel. I’m blushing.” It’s that monster again. He’s broken the moment, and with him pulling your attention away from the angel, it causes him to calm down and go pliant in Sam’s grip once more.

“Shut up Crowley, unless you have something useful to say.” Dean snarls, his hatred evident as he continues to squeeze you tight, constantly braced for another violent episode.

“Tsk. Tsk. Is that any way to treat the one who just saved your angst-flavored bacon Dean? Here I am, King of Hell, bringing the cavalry in to save the day and you’re so ungracious. That would hurt my feelings… if I had any.” Your eyes go wide. King? Of Hell!? Your full attention is now on Crowley and you can’t help but stare at him. The monster named Crowley is the King of Hell? He suddenly looks even more arrogant than before which you didn’t think was possible.

“Fuck you.” You can almost feel the bitchface Dean gives as he spits out the words. You continue to be distracted from your goal, never forgetting that you want heaven back, but curiosity is winning over that for the moment while these two men banter.

“You always were the flirt.” Crowley winks, his lips twisting into a wicked smirk; then he looks down and toes at the symbol on the floor. You notice that the paint is chipped, scraped away in a small spot; shallow gouges where the concrete is powdered and the line completely broken. Crowley steps over the painted barrier, looks around like he’s waiting for something to happen, and then he turns to the demons standing idly by, “Thank you boys and girls, head on back to the playpen, Daddy needs to take care of some business.” He nonchalantly snaps his fingers and in the blink of an eye they’re all gone, like they were never there. Crowley’s attention turns back within the circle, his shrewd gaze flicking from you to the angel and then to each brother, like he’s sizing everyone up or staring at something that you can’t see. Then he sighs dramatically, “Damn.”

Sam shifts his stance, concern causing him to fidget while he holds Cas. “What?”

“You two just couldn’t keep it in your pants could you? Not that I blame you, she is quite a lovely little peach; sweet and ripe… and very juicy.” The king’s voice is almost a purr as he focuses on you, undressing you with his gaze alone. “I wonder what people would say if they knew what you lot have been up to in that little love nest of yours. Have you seen their dungeon yet peach? It’s very posh.” His smirk spreads deeper as he revels in that statement for a moment and you don’t answer the question. “Well. Since I haven’t been tainted by this lovely little harlot, I suppose I’ll have to do it.” Crowley sounds like he is resigned to some burdensome fate. “Figures.” Castiel doesn’t seem to like what Crowley is saying because he suddenly jerks forward, pulling heavily at Sam, gaining one step closer to you, but he doesn’t break free. Your attention shifts back to the angel and that aching need surges back up again and you thrust yourself forward too, hoping you can close the gap. You gain a step and Dean cusses under his breath as he reposts his legs and holds steady.

“Hey dickbag…” Dean grunts as you strain against him again, “If you’re done being a self righteous drama queen you might wanna frickin’ do something!” Dean is so agitated and his faint thread is feeding you mountains of worry as he holds onto you for dear life.

Crowley’s smile fades to a scowl, like this game isn’t fun anymore because Dean is being a sore loser. “Fine, but for a price. You know I’m not a tart. I’m a proper businessman. I get paid for my services.”

“Really!? How about you’re keeping Lucifer in the damn box you greedy basta…” Dean gets cut off as you take his moment of distraction and inch closer, causing him to replant his feet once again, his breathing becoming labored at the strain of holding you back.

“Well. That is all well and good. Keeping Luci tucked away tight is the reason I came here in the first place, and to my great surprise, whom did I find in the thick of it all? The bloody Winchesters and their pet angel, that’s who! So let’s talk price. It doesn’t look like you can hold out much longer so I’ll be brief.” At those condescending words Castiel shifts again, pulling against Sam with more strength. “I know how to fix this. I can fix it in a snap and I’m willing to make the astronomical sacrifice on my part to make it happen… but in return, you have to stay out of South Dakota for exactly one month. After that you and moose stay clear for a long while and you don’t go digging around, got it Squirrel?” Crowley’s pithy British accent isn’t distracting you as much anymore because Castiel is closer and his gaze has never shifted from you, continually feeding your desire, and the thread is keeping you both connected and craven.

You pull against Dean’s grip again and he grunts before asking, “What the fuck’s in South Dakota?” Dean sounds incredulous.

“Heh. That’s for me to know and for you to never find out.” Crowley’s confidence is commendable and you hope he keeps blustering on because with every movement you are getting closer to your target. Sam stares past you, locking eyes with Dean in a silent discussion and then Sam frowns and you assume Dean does too.

“Fine. Deal.” Sam is the one who agrees to the terms with a rough crestfallen voice and you quickly become desperate, fearing that they will keep you forever from Castiel. In desperation you kick, scream, and flail, giving Dean a run for his money while you fight, hard. How could they? How could they make a deal with the devil to take away your heaven? Dean groans and strains, his muscles shaking as you try to tear yourself from him.

You watch as Crowley strides over to Castiel, grabbing the angel’s head with both hands and then swoops in, kissing him soundly on the lips. Castiel’s face is priceless, shocked and horrified and so is Sam’s; you can only imagine Dean’s expression. You immediately feel the fight knocked right out of you, the open highway between you and the angel shattered and that suffocating craving diminishing down to nothing more than a memory. You watch, stunned and lost, as the King of Hell pulls away from Castiel with a look of disgust on his face. Castiel slumps limply, Sam catching him as Crowley spits violently, wiping his mouth with a black kerchief he’s pulled from his suit pocket. “Crapping Christ you angels are sickening sweet! You’re like walking pixie sticks! Give a demon diabetes with that much sugar.” It takes a moment for Crowley to compose himself, obviously not used to that particular effect from a kiss and you’re pretty sure that demons don’t kiss angels very often, that being a perfect demonstration of why not.

That was all very surprising and you’re beginning to think more clearly, recounting the last chunk of time, but you’re mind is still thick and far from rational. Things are less hazy but you feel so utterly empty, empty and alone and all that’s left in you at the moment is confusion, loss and rage. The rage feels familiar and you latch hold of it desperately. Like gasoline on a fire it suddenly swells up, hot and unbridled into one final burst. Dean let’s out a yell as you break free of his grip and there is no hesitation as you head straight for Castiel. You feel like you’ve won and you don’t quite remember what the prize is anymore, but your compelled to reach the angel so you can touch him. Somehow it’s very important.

Suddenly Crowley is in front of you and there is the sound of a loud smack followed by the hot sting on your face where he just slapped you. It stops you dead in your tracks. That gives Dean the moment he needs to wrap himself around you again, hugging your arms against your sides once more. You don’t resist him, the fight smacked out of you, as you stand stunned in Dean’s arms. Suddenly Castiel isn’t very important anymore as electric tingles crawl across your cheek where it throbs and you feel something familiar, a connection. Your eyes grow wide as you focus on Crowley, confusion etched into your face as you stare. Crowley is staring back, his eyebrow raised. Then you watch a crooked smile tug at his mouth. “Hmmm. I see.” Crowley quietly purrs those words as he quickly moves forward and invades your space. “Very interesting.” His hands lock your head in place and then you feel his lips press warm against yours.

You are so confused, so many emotions swirling uncontrolled through your mind. There is still an empty hole and an ache for Castiel but it’s more of a memory now. You’re still connected to the angel, and with both brothers, but…. but now there’s something new. Now you’re connected to this demon, this King. This King of Hell who is prying your mouth open with dominant force and you find yourself complying, melting into it; enjoying it. He tastes like hot cinnamon and his stubble scratches at your skin with pleasurable pain while his tongue invades you with arrogant lust. You find yourself wanting to grab his tie, wanting to pull him in close so you can feel more of him, but you’re trapped in Dean’s embrace, unable to reciprocate your appreciation of his obvious skills; so you merely stand there, taking what he gives you with deep pliant pleasure.

“Crowley.” Dean’s voice is low and threatening behind you but Crowley doesn’t stop, his hands still holding your head, tilting it whichever direction he chooses. Dean’s voice seems to egg him on and you let out a muffled moan as Crowley grips you tighter and claims you harder, your body shuddering against Dean as he does. “Crowley!” Dean’s voice is sharp, murderous intent evident in his tone. The King apparently knows it’s a fight he won’t win because he eases off, biting your lower lip with a terse smile just before he pulls away. As he steps back you find yourself leaning towards him; yearning for the taste of cinnamon. Dean lets go but you don’t move, confusion, compliance, and revelry locking you in place.

Crowley takes a deep breath, straightens his tie and then gives Dean a sassy smile, “Beautiful little peach.” His voice is full of appreciative lust, his tone making you wonder what deliciously wicked things the King of Hell could do to you if given a chance. “Well boys.” He straightens his spine, assuming that arrogant semblance once more as he addresses the brothers, “My work here is done. Remember our deal and I’m sure the next time we meet will surely be too soon.” Crowley raises his hand and hesitates, locking eyes with you for a moment, “Meeting you again peach, would be a pleasure.” You swear there is a glint of regret, a hint of loss at what could have been, and then he snaps his fingers and is gone. No flutter of wings or flourish, just gone, leaving the four of you alone in a warehouse full of blood and death as the rain patters on the metal roof above.


	13. Chapter 13

  
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“No. no no no no no no no.” Dean’s voice is dripping with anguish, “Baby, you ok?” You’ve never heard him so worried before and you’re really surprised at his gentle, caressing touch. “Did they hurt you?” You can’t help but appreciate Dean’s deep level of emotion and you feel your heart melt just a little bit at his pained expression.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is tired as he sighs heavily, almost annoyed at his brother’s sudden concern.

“Sammy.” Dean ignores his attitude and continues, “Those bastards drove my car!” Dean hauls open the Impala door and sits down behind the wheel, running his hands along the dash like he just did to the outside curves, and he frowns even harder. “Oh hell no! They adjusted my seat! They adjusted the fucking seat Sam!” Dean’s face switches from a look of rage to one of heartbreak as he tries to adjust it back to just the right spot. The three of you are outside the warehouse and it feels like the wee hours of the morning, luckily there is security lighting nearby to keep the darkness at bay while you follow Dean with your eyes. You’re emotionally drained and equally tired, barely able to stand at the moment, but watching Dean paw and fawn over his car is beyond adorable. He pulls the lever and twitches the seat, adjusting it just a little; then he puts his hands on the wheel and sits still. He frowns, wiggles his butt, and then pulls the lever again, tweaking it just a bit more. After his third attempt he finally seems satisfied, and then he starts inspecting the rest of the car.

Sam pulls your attention away from Dean by twisting your shoulders and forcing your gaze to meet his. His face is spattered with dirt, you can even see a few flecks of someone else’s blood here and there, and a line of his own blood is crusted from his temple to his jawbone. One of his giant hands moves up to cup your cheek and you press into his action, closing your eyes as you revel in its comfort. You feel his heat as he closes the gap between you, his proximity electrifying despite the fatigue and you quietly moan as his lips press against yours. He doesn’t claim you, doesn’t press for more, he only wants to show his affection and concern and it warms you down deep, a salve for your soul. Your lips slide from his and you snuggle into is embrace, his arms a comfort, the moment peaceful. His chin rests atop your head and you find yourself lost in the past, remembering the first night at the bunker. It seems like a lifetime since then, forever and a day ago that you first pulled Sam into that passionate kiss and you never thought that things would turn into what it is now, which is….

“Son of a bitch!” Your eyes fly open, your thoughts scattered to the wind at Dean’s outburst.

“What?” You feel Sam turn his head with that question and you do the same, still resting it against his chest as you both watch Dean roll out of the car.

He looks and sounds like a sulking child as he rants, “Those dicks! They changed all the settings on my stereo! Do you know how long it took me to find the perfect levels for Bohemian Rhapsody? How frickin’ evil can you get man?” Dean kicks at the pavement before heading your direction. “I’m so glad I ganked those bastards, just wish I knew which one did it so I coulda stabbed him harder.” You quietly snicker into Sam’s shirt before locking eyes with Dean; your arms still wrapped around the plaid mountain that’s holding you tight. Dean gives you a half grin, realizing he’s being childish, but pleased that it made you smile. “Ah. Well, at least it isn’t the end of the world, right?” He’s trying to save face now as his eyes dip to the ground. For being such a rough and tumble guy Dean really can be a doof and a big ole softy, and you can’t help but love that about him as he pulls his gaze up to meet yours again with a sheepish look. “Come on, let’s get outta here.” Your smile deepens and then you look up at Sam before sliding out of his embrace. You all head to the car and you try and stifle a look of shock when Dean opens the back door for you. It seems so out of character; something Sam would do, not Dean, and you give him another smile and a quiet thanks as you tuck into the back seat. Sam takes his usual position in the front passenger seat and Dean returns the smile, warm and lingering as he closes the door and then he deposits himself behind the wheel. The driver’s door squeaks shut, the engine revs, and you don’t look back as you try and leave all the horrifying things that occurred behind you.

You don’t do very well at leaving it behind. The trip back is quiet; no one makes conversation, and when it begins to feel stifling Dean shoves a cassette tape in and the music fills up the empty space. You end up stretched out in the backseat, noting that it’s pretty comfortable and good for more than just spontaneous car sex with Sam. You smile to yourself, remembering the enjoyable dinner that followed that little recreation. That was a really good time. Then you recall the feel of the taser while standing in the parking lot and your smile disappears. You try and feel better by reminding yourself that the bad guys lost, the day was saved, and now it’s over… Sigh. It’s over. That sounds so final and suddenly your soul feels weighted because it really is over, and all you’ve managed to do is make yourself feel even more miserable. “Over” means you have to leave.

This is the part where you go back to your normal life. Ha! You barely remember what that is anymore, but you have to leave this behind, you have to leave Sam and Dean behind, and Cas... Castiel. Everything that happened in that warehouse was unexpected but Cas was definitely at the top of the WTF list. Once all was said and done it became obvious that he was the broken frame the key inhabited, although you don’t know how or why he’s considered broken. He’s an angel; angels are perfect right? Maybe he’s a little awkward to talk to but that hardly constitutes broken, so what made him qualify? Maybe he did something wrong, people’s past have a way of haunting them and perhaps angels are no different. You shrug it off because you have no idea and you don’t dare ask the brothers if they know, which you suspect they do, but he’s still on your mind and instead of dark thoughts you become distracted by the memory of Castiel’s perfect lips. Not just lips, his perfect everything. You lay there in the back of the Impala wondering; wondering if you felt that way because of the connection with him, because of the key spell, or if it’s because he’s an angel. You’re betting a good bit of it was the key spell because you still feel his thread, although he’s far away, but you don’t feel that overwhelming lust anymore. In fact, you don’t have any salacious cravings at the moment and it could be the fatigue or it could be what Castiel did to you before he left the warehouse, but you’re not sure.

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It was all so surreal, those moments after Crowley left, gone back to the hell he came from, the thread of desire following him and fading into a thin line in the background. The four of you stood there for a bit, three humans and an angel, just catching your breath and absorbing the fact that it was over. Cas was the first to make a sound, a pained grunt as he slowly straightened in Sam’s grip. “Woah Cas. Hey man, take it easy.” Sam is always so caring and you recall seeing the camaraderie between the two as Castiel gently pushed him away, swaying before becoming steady on his feet.

“Thank you for your concern Sam, but I am fine.” Sam huffed at him and it was somewhere between amused and worried as the angel’s eyes moved from the youngest Winchester to lock onto you. Cas’s gaze was full of so much sadness and he seemed almost shy as he slowly crossed the room to you, his awkwardness at its peak. You remember watching the boys give each other a nod and then they busied themselves with taking care of the bodies so that the two of you were left alone to talk. Taking care of the bodies… that should bother you, but for some reason it just seemed so normal at the time, and talk about what? What do you say after you’ve made out with an angel? It wasn’t a bad thing… um, other than the part where it would open the pit and let Satan out, but otherwise… well… honestly it was unbelievably amazing and your body was still vibrating from the after effects.

Castiel spoke first. “I’m sorry.” It’s better than what you would have said which was nothing, but Castiel has no need whatsoever to be sorry and those two words made you sad. The angel sounded so forlorn, like he committed some great sin as he stood there in front of you with his shoulders slumped. “What I did was inappropriate, and all I can do is ask for your forgiveness.” You were shocked and speechless; you remember that clearly, and your voice was thick with emotion when you told him there was nothing to be sorry for. The next moment is what sticks in your mind the most, causing your body to quiver at the memory, the kiss that followed those words. You didn’t even think, you just took a step forward and pressed your lips against his as your arms tucked inside his trench coat and wrapped around his waist. Thinking back on that, it was probably a really strange thing to do considering what those actions almost did earlier, but it just felt like the right thing to do. He only hesitated a moment before sliding his tongue between your lips and pressing into you, and that’s when you knew it was the correct course of action because it felt… perfect; absolute beautiful unearthly perfection as you stood there being kissed by sunlight.

Your body warms at the memory of his taste, his touch, and of the thoughts that flowed through the connection. There were still heavy undertones of desire and need but what you sensed the most was Castiel’s deep caring and affection for you, and it felt so beautiful. It still does. With the key spell long gone it comes across differently now, not the profound soul-rending needy love from before, but an awkward, reserved, curious kind of love. It’s so hard to explain, even to yourself, but it’s something you will always cherish. You suddenly blush at a memory, immediately glad you’re lying down and the boys aren’t looking at you.

You remember feeling so embarrassed when Castiel finally broke the moment by pulling away to chide you. At least he kept his eyes closed and took a moment to savor the feel of your kiss before making you feel terrible. “You should have told me about what was happening sooner. Humans can be so stubborn, and always seem so reluctant to ask for help.” You recall his voice sounding low and husky, still laced with heady want, but you felt so small when faced with his concentrated frown as his eyes seemed to dissect you from toes to the tips of your hair, “I cannot take away what already is, but I can prevent what could be.” That statement confused you until he touched his fingers to your forehead and then you felt something inside, right at your heart, flaring hot for a moment and then cooling back to normal. “There. Now you can no longer ensnare anyone else like you have Sam or Dean... or me.” His words stung, his gravely monotone making you feel like a cheap seductress with wicked intentions and you remember wincing at the harsh statement despite the magnificent kiss you just shared.

Fortunately Castiel quickly realized that he misspoke, because his eyes grew wide and he began to fumble his words, “I. I didn’t mean…. I was…“ You stood there waiting and hoping while his lips pulled tight in frustration; the angel was trying so hard to find the correct words, “I am trying to say that what you have between Sam and Dean, and between you and I, it’s… it’s very special. A Cupid’s powers are highly influential and almost impossible to corrupt or relinquish. When you were made the gatekeeper, you were given that power and I cannot take away what has already been created. We will always be connected to you. But I was able to burn away the remaining grace, and now, no one else will have this kind of rare and powerful unity.” His sincerity shined through; flowing through the very thread he was talking about, and you could tell how deeply he cared for you (and still does), and his words were no longer painful after that little explanation. Or was it a confession? Either way it was such a splendid feeling, his tenderness soothing you, and you didn’t have the heart to mention that there was also one more connection, bringing your total up to four. You blush now at the thought of Crowley; his thread faint but definitely there, and it feels like a dirty little secret that was best not to confess to the angel… or anyone ever for that matter.

At the time Crowley was the last thing on your mind; Castiel’s presence consuming most of your attention, and his eyes flickered over to the brothers. Yours followed as he said, “You’ve been good for them. Happiness is a stranger to the Winchesters, but you’ve made them smile and I’m grateful.” You recall those words with fondness and they still warm your heart. You hugged Cas tightly again; burying your face in his shoulder and thanking him for all he did and said, and then you remember the goodbye. As he pulled away from your embrace, his lips pressed against your cheek; and his eyes, oh those beautiful blue depths, were filled with affection. “Goodbye.” Then he was gone; wind whispering through his invisible wings.

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You sleep in the backseat of the Impala; you have no idea how long and you don’t care because when the squeaking slam of the front doors is loud enough to wake the dead, you startle back to consciousness to find you’re still completely exhausted. You vaguely register plodding into the bunker, down the stairs and then walking down the hall, one brother on each side of you. The fact that you are led to Dean’s room is hardly worth registering and you stand there totally submissive as Sam and Dean strip you down to your bra and underwear. Quiet purrs escape you when one or the other gently caresses or kisses your body with reverence, not lust. Then you moan with pleasure at the splendid feeling of crashing down in the middle of the bed, thinking that you’ve never felt anything better in all your life, as you curl up against the sheets. Just before you fall unconscious again you feel the warmth of Sam tucking up against your right side and Dean snuggling in on your left. You were wrong, this is best thing you’ve ever felt in all of your life and it’s such a beautiful feeling as you fall asleep in the arms of Sam and Dean Winchester.

After forty winks you feel magnificent, and stretching is certainly the first order of business as you come up out of sleep. For once you’re fully rested and free of nightmares, and you haven’t slept this well in ages it seems. When you hear the moans of both brothers, disturbed by your movements, you smile and warmth pools deep inside. Another first is that Sam didn’t disappear this time and you twist away from a still unconscious Dean to find him silently watching you. His hair is tousled; his expression drowsy, but you can clearly see the adoration in Sam’s eyes as they lock with yours. “Hey.” His voice is thick and quiet, still lethargic as he brushes your hair back with gentle fingers. “Are you doing ok?” You doubt Sam realizes how loaded and heavy that question is. You feel splendid because you’re rested, but “ok” doesn’t describe things, because this is the end. No one likes endings and you’re no different; but you don’t say that, instead you tell Sam that you’re awesome, awesome because he’s here with you and happy that the good guys won. He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, we did; and I’m glad you’re safe now.” His hand falls back down on the bed but he doesn’t break eye contact, his smile growing wider the longer you lay there reveling in it.

Without warning you’re attacked. Dean gnaws on your shoulder with an embellished animalistic growl and you let out an undignified squealing yelp as Sam’s wholehearted laughter fills the room. Holy shit that man is gorgeous when he laughs and you wish he’d do it more often. You only hesitate for a moment before you grab one of the pillows and roll so you can smack Dean in his chuckling face. Sam laughs even louder at the annoyed face his brother is trying to maintain. Dean’s smile keeps cracking the façade as he rips the pillow from your hands so he can smack his brother over the head. Sam was to busy holding his stomach to dodge so he gets a face full of cottony softness and Dean’s grin finally melts through his annoyed mask as he chortles, “Laugh it up fuzzball.” Then he quickly rolls out of bed so that his little brother can’t reciprocate. Sam still beams, despite the assault, and his eyes lock on you while you sit up, causing the sheets to slide down into a pool of fabric in your lap. You watch, following a very naked Dean as he grabs some clothes off a nearby chair and then he flashes you another genuine smile, “I’m bailing on this chick flick moment before you two start braiding each others hair and swooning over the latest boy band. Shower’s mine.” Pfft. Dean is such a doof and your laughter follows him out of the room. You hear him chuckling as he heads down the hall and you turn to regard the magnificent sight of a very happy Sam Winchester.

Sam snickers and then his long arms pull you down and he snuggles you in close, your cheek on his chest and his chin tucked in your hair. You cozy up to him, skin against skin, as you match his embrace; both of you lying there quietly, basking in the good mood vibes. You eventually have to move, and grudgingly, you ungracefully peel away from him. You both slide out of bed and you gawk at the graceful, sexy as fuck, naked Sam Winchester as he stands and runs his fingers through his own hair and then up into a stretch. Good god you could stare at that forever; but you don’t, because he comes around the bed and wraps his arm around you so he can lead you out the door. “Come on. Let’s grab a shower and then find some breakfast.”

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Dean is so awesome; he’s made pancakes and bacon for everyone. It’s bittersweet. Sweet because he thought to do it; bitter because it’s the last meal at the bunker before you leave, and you’re sure that’s why he did it. Despite that, the mood remains light and carefree, laughter filling the galley; but there is also that undertone of sadness that just won’t shake. After breakfast things get downright domestic as the three of you work together to clean up and put away. Everyone works slow, taking an extra long time to do each task, because you’re all afraid of what happens after it’s done. You finally can’t hold off any longer and the last dish is placed in the cabinet. Everything has dropped into silence, not awkward, just sad and after a deep breath you quietly tell the boys that you’re going to go get your stuff packed up. You do everything in your power to shut down the connection between you and the boys, not wanting to experience what they feel as two sets of green eyes watch you leave the room. You feel like crying. A few stubborn tears eventually slip down your face, but it’s after you’re in the room, tucking all your stuff back in your bag. You wipe them away while breathing deeply, trying hard not to breakdown, and like a miracle you manage to shove your emotions in a box, locking them away so you become numb. You tell yourself that it’s not like they’re dead or you’ll never see them again, you have their numbers so you can always call if you need to, but it still hurts.

As you wipe away another stray tear, you look up and see Sam standing in the doorway. When he sees you’ve been crying his face melts into that heartbreaking puppy dog look. “Hey. Hey come here.” He sets down the bundle he was carrying and pulls you into a caring embrace. “Nothing to cry about, ok. It’s not like we’re dead. Besides you have our numbers if you need us, and it’s not like we can’t visit.” You chuckle against his plaid shirt and snuggle into his comforting embrace. “What? Why’s that funny?” You smile and pull away enough that you can look into those deep green eyes. A pained smile tugs at your mouth as you explain that you were just telling yourself the exact same thing. “See. Then you already know this isn’t goodbye.” He gently wipes at the track of water left by another stupid tear and then he cups your face in his hand, “Can you be happy for me? I kinda don’t want to say goodbye with you all weepy. You’re so beautiful, but you’re absolutely gorgeous when you smile.”

Sam always says such nice things and you can’t help but push your sadness down and brighten up for him, giving him a genuine grin as his words warm your heart. It comes easier than you imagined, his need for your happiness making it simple, as you get lost in his eyes. “See. Gorgeous.” He smiles back, but you can still see a hint of pain buried inside. He quickly changes gears, trying to beat back the feelings with a dose of normalcy, “So. I did laundry while you were sleeping. I thought you might wanna change or something.” He picks up the bundle he brought which is your shirt/skirt combo, and then you look down at your t-shirt and cargo pants, property of one, Dean Winchester. You sheepishly ask if you can borrow them for a while and Sam gives you a knowing smile. “Sure. You can have them. Dean will get over it if he complains.” You smile back because you’re pretty sure he won’t mind at all. “All right, if you’re ready Dean will drive you home.”

You hesitate. Wait? Sam isn’t coming? You pluck at the connection between you, glimpsing his thoughts. Sam doesn’t like long goodbyes it seems, and there is a hint of something else, like he suspects his brother wants to do this alone… or… maybe Dean told him he’s doing this alone, you aren’t sure. Regardless, it means this is it, and you will miss him so much. You’ve made so many wonderful memories with Sam, and you feel such deep devotion and caring warmth for him that the glowing affection bubbles up into your actions. You toss the clothes back on the bed and your arms circle around Sam’s neck as you pull him down into a deep kiss. He wraps himself around you and squeezes you in tight, his body pressing heavily against you in all the right ways. One more time you get lost in the feel of Sam Winchester. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring deep and fervent as his lips caress yours with a forlorn passion. His hands hold you firmly to him and yours trace along the muscles in his back and down to that tight ass of his; and you grab a handful, just because you can. Sam smiles against your lips with a tiny laugh and then he pulls away, forcing you both to find an end. You reach up and brush Sam’s hair out of his face, like he’s done with you so many times, and you stare into those eyes one more time before you finally take a deep breath and turn away so you can shove the clothes into your bag. You sling your pack over your shoulder, straighten your spine, and a look of strained resolve is on your face as you leave the room behind. Sam walks with you to the library where Dean is waiting patiently for a change, and you give Sam one final lingering hug before you follow his older brother up the stairs and out the bunker door.

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Dean tries to make light conversation but he just doesn’t put enough heart into it and the ride quickly turns to silence as you shoot down the highway, the Impala purring for her master with pleasure as it eats up the open road. You don’t mind the quiet; it’s nice just to sit in the passenger seat and see the world slip by, or watch Dean as he sits so comfortably confident behind the wheel. You don’t check the time, not once, afraid to see how many minutes have slipped by as the miles drop away because you’ve already left Sam and now you have to leave Dean, and you don’t want to. You don’t even try to hide your affectionate stare as you take in every detail of the magnificent man sitting next to you; his short cropped hair, those perfect features accented with his 5 o’clock shadow, his long legs stretching down, those piercing green eyes focused on the road. Your breath catches when he suddenly licks his lips, that ever present desire flaring hot for a moment, and you realize just how much you are going to miss Dean Winchester.

You’re sad, and you turn away to look out the window just as Dean swivels his head to look in your direction, “Hey girl, you alright?” You continue to stare at the scenery while trying to make your voice sound wistful when you tell him yeah. You wonder what look is on his face and if he believes you, but you don’t dare turn your head because he’ll see the lie. Silence reigns supreme once more, Motley Crew belts out Home Sweet Home and the words ring soundly in your mind, like a song for your soul that resonates deep down as they sing _“Take me to your heart, feel me in your bones, just one more night and I’m coming off this long and winding road.”_ The song eventually ends and Girls, Girls, Girls kicks in with an upbeat contrast but you ignore it, buried in thought.

You lose all sense of time, which happens when you evade the clock like it’s the plague. All you can tell is that’s it’s too soon to be home and the scenery is unfamiliar when Dean pulls the Impala into a little dive just off the main highway. You’ve been looking out the window but not really seeing anything, and you don’t even know what state you’re in as he pulls to a stop. The Arrowhead Inn; it’s quaint, with a little diner attached to the front of the motel and Dean has parked the Impala right where the two connect. There is a gas station on one side of the Inn and a bus station on the other, a prime spot for a motel if ever there was one, but it’s still a little shabby and run down despite that. “Come on. Let’s grab some chow. You hungry?” When you take a moment to think about it, you really are famished, so you give him a yes while hauling the door open to get out. You catch Dean staring as you stretch out the kinks in your muscles and you blush lightly. It’s kind of silly that he still makes you a little nervous, especially after all the times you’ve been together, but it’s probably because you aren’t sure of his mood right now which puts you on edge just a little bit. You could easily test the connection and find out, but you’re afraid of what you’ll find, so you don’t.

The diner is a typical little trucker haven; gaudy dated interior and the smell of grease and coffee fill the air as Dean sits facing both exits, and you sit across from him with your back to the door. His leg presses up against yours, probably out of habit by now, but it still feels nice as the tingles run through your veins. His eyes track your movements for a reaction and you give him a shy smile. The waitress walks up and she’s pretty; bleach blonde hair and a cute little ass tucked tightly in a pair of skinny jeans, and she’s wearing a standard issue white apron while holding an order book. She ignores you completely and flashes Dean a huge smile as she chomps on her gum, “Well hello handsome. What can I get ya?” You try not to show your annoyance at her obvious flirt but Dean doesn’t belong to you and you can’t blame her for appreciating his superior hotness, so you tell yourself to shut up and stop being stupid.

You watch as he flashes a well-practiced smile and his eyes skirt down to her cleavage and then back up again before he orders, “Yeah, just a cheeseburger, everything on it, fries, and coffee black.” Both of them look to you expectantly and you just mumble that you’ll have the same, not really caring what goes in your belly right now.

“I’ll get that cooking up hot for ya real quick sugar.” She’s talking to Dean again as she winks and then wanders off to put in the order. He doesn’t watch her leave; instead, he eyes you for a minute with a smile before he excuses himself. “Don’t run off, just heading to the bathroom. Be right back.” You nod and then lay your head down. Being alone means you have more time to think, and that sucks. You try and turn your brain off because you’re so tired of trying to convince yourself that this isn’t goodbye and that the brothers don’t mean that much to you. You lift your head while still sprawled across the table like your passed out; you grab the menu from the little condiment/napkin holder and start reading. Learning that they have four kinds of pie is much better than brooding right now and you feel a little better. The waitress comes back with the coffee and looks disappointed when she sees Dean isn’t there to flirt with, and you smile at her misfortune despite yourself.

Dean comes wandering back and you can’t help but notice that he’s in a better mood. Weird that bathroom time would cause that much difference, but whatever. You sit back up in your seat and Dean starts chatting; idle chit chat to begin with, and you find yourself eager to make conversation. You sit there in the little diner, Dean’s leg pressed up against yours again, eating cheeseburgers and talking like everything is perfectly ok, and it’s pretty amazing. Dean is nice to the waitress but you find yourself smiling inwardly as he continues to ignore her obvious come-ons. The food is all right, nothing to write home about, but not terrible either and Dean insists on paying the bill when the check comes. You notice that the waitress, apparently her name is Cindy, has left her name and number on the receipt in hopes that Dean will change his mind. She gets points for persistence, but apparently not in Dean’s book, because he leaves the receipt on the table as he gets up and his hand presses almost possessively against your back while you head towards the exit.

<<< >>>

Once you’re out the door of the diner, you steer in the direction of the Impala, but Dean catches your hand and tugs you away from the parking lot. You don’t resist, despite your confusion, and you look at him. His face is set with determination, and with curiosity you watch as he fishes a key out of his pocket while leading you along the row of motel doors. You continue to be speechless as he finally stops and slides the key into the lock of number thirteen; then he leads you through the entrance into the dim room. You stand there like an idiot in the middle of the room, wrestling with your hope that this is what you think it is while he closes the door and flips on the light. Your eyes track Dean as he walks to the window to close the curtains and then you briefly take in the rest of the room as you hear the fabric skate over the curtain rod. Archery is the theme, which makes sense from the name Arrowhead Inn, but they definitely overdid it. The room divider is a curtain of arrows hooked tip to fletching that imbed into a half wall; the clock hanging over the dresser is a bulls eye, and the bedspread is a drab gray with white artsy representations of arrows on it. It’s not the worst place you’ve ever seen, but it’s not the Ritz either.

You quickly realize that Dean has stopped moving, and you turn to find him staring at you, his face a mix of emotions. It’s a perfect storm of lust, heartbreak, pain and excitement and it doesn’t take the connection between you to know that what you were hoping was right. You open the thread anyways, curiosity compelling you; and you feel, rather than hear, the Motley Crue song thrumming in Dean’s thoughts. Apparently it spoke to his soul too as _“Take me to your heart, feel me in your bones, just one more night”_ reverberates between the two of you. You should have opened the connection sooner because he’s just as torn as you, just as broken about separating and you’ve been keeping each other company, yet sitting all alone this whole time. Dean is almost in physical pain because he hates goodbyes so much; you feel his aching heart and you’re suddenly so sorry for not seeing it sooner, and for not telling him how much you will miss him too. Your emotions roll through the thread and you see his face twist into something unreadable as you stand there staring at each other.

Like a bullet, Dean suddenly crosses the space and his body crashes into you while his lips press hot and breathy against yours. His muscular arms pick you up so he can continue his stride as he backs you against the bare wall next to the room divider and he crushes you against the wallpaper, holding you captive. Dean’s elbows brace against the drywall and his hands tangle in your hair as he rubs his body heavily against yours, his mouth stealing every sighing breath with hunger. You have no air as he envelopes you, every fiber of your being alight with passion as you drown in the attention of Dean Winchester. You finally rake in air when his lips release you, grazing across your cheek and then his teeth clamp down on your neck. Your body vibrates with pleasure and you moan his name as his arms come off the wall and his hands begin to explore your body. Dean kneads your breasts roughly and then his body pushes heavy against yours again, his hands running down your sides; then one hand slides back up between your legs and you grip his shoulder tight with a pleasured whine as he presses the fabric up against your now hungry sex.

Dean’s body ruts up against yours again, flattening your back against the wall as his tongue stabs back between your lips. He’s hungry, eager and insatiable; his body tense with emotion, and all you can do is continue to drown in it. His heat pulls away and you feel his fingers working the buttons on your cargo pants as he leans his head on your shoulder, trying to focus on what he’s doing. Dean’s hands are shaking and he just can’t seem to complete this one simple task. You’ve never seen him this wrecked before, never seen his hands shake or his hunger so urgent. You grab onto his quaking fingers and smile against his cheek while quietly whispering one word, stop. Dean pulls his head away, standing up straight as his arms fall to his sides and he looks at you; his expression lost and pained, almost desperate. His eyes are glistening, his lips slick and swollen, and that look; you could cry. You know what Dean needs, you see it written in his eyes and feel it flowing through the thread; he needs something badly and he doesn’t understand what, so you take control.

Dean calms as you very slowly, with both hands, slide your fingers up into his hair and guide him into a gentle kiss. You pour all of your emotions into it, and you feel his body shudder with the power of the moment as he closes his eyes and gets lost in the feeling. The taste of salt mingles with the familiar flavor of Dean and you realize a tear has made its way down his face. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever tasted and you wonder how that thought translates through the thread as you continue to caress his mouth with yours. Keeping the pace slow, you slide your hands out of his hair, down his neck and then up under his jacket so you can push it off his shoulders and onto the floor. Dean is completely pliant, lost in you just like you’ve been lost in him so many times. You pull on his shirt and he immediately grabs it and pulls it over his head so that his chest is bare. He leans back in for another kiss but you put a single digit to his lips and he stops, those green orbs watching your every move now.

Your eyes never leave his as you start at his jawbone, your fingers gliding along his skin, tenderly down his neck, his collarbone and shoulders; down his arms and then back up again, just like in the shower forever ago. Your right hand brushes across the tattoo on his chest, the one that perfectly matches Sam’s, and you stare at it for a moment with a smile before finding those emerald irises again. You worship Dean with your caress; nimble fingers playing across smooth skin, and you ever so slowly move down to his belt buckle. You gingerly unfasten Dean’s jeans, and you gradually work his pants down to reveal his rock hard member. You sigh quietly in appreciation as you move past it, squatting at his feet. Dean complies without instruction, lifting one foot so you can unlace and remove his boot along with that leg of his jeans easily; then you repeat the process for his other leg until he’s completely naked.

You lazily skim your fingers up his legs, hips, and sides as you stand back up, your eyes sweeping over his perfection from his toes to the tips of his messy sexy hair. You make sure your unfiltered appreciation is flowing through the thread before you pull him into another gentle kiss. Dean has been silent other than his grunting pants while he attacked, and he’s silent now as you worship him. Your tongue plays gingerly with his for a time and then one of his hands snakes up into your hair while he slides his lips along your cheek. Dean is barely audible as he nuzzles your neck, “Thank you.” Such a simple sentiment, but right now it’s profound, a testament made auditory by the reverent lips of Dean Winchester, and now it’s his turn. His hands pull at your shirt and it peels up and off quickly; you save him the pain of unfastening your bra, and then he delicately pulls it from your body before pressing in and claiming your mouth once more. Dean is gentle this time, reverent and tender. He tries again to unbutton your pants, it’s so easy this time, and his bare chest scrapes against your breasts causing shivers to quake through your limbs as he moves down.

Instead of using hands like you did, Dean uses his angelic lips to show his adoration and he trails them along your skin, ghosting down your neck and shoulder and then down between your breasts. His panting breaths are like warm footprints as he kisses down your belly. His hands work your pants to the floor, and instead of the wall you use him as a steadying point to remove the rest of your clothing. Now you’re both naked, and Dean’s fingers take the same path yours took, tingling the nerves in your sides as he makes his way back up. His hands rest on your hips and he leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. You feel Dean soaking up the moment, reveling in the intimacy of it, and you do the same. Then you plant a quick kiss on his lips before grabbing his hands and pulling him towards the king sized bed. You don’t have to say it, because your intentions are laid bare through the connection that’s wide open between you, and Dean climbs atop the comforter and lies down on his back. His eyes take in every movement as you slowly work your way up from the foot of the bed, taking your time to graze your lips across his thighs and hips before you stop at his aching erection.

With great care you grip his shaft with one hand and your tongue swirls around the tip, causing Dean to twitch and let out a carnal groan. As you slide him deep into your mouth, his hand curls into your hair and he whispers, “Jesus girl.” You smile around his cock and then begin to stroke him with slow teasing swipes of your lips. You send your passion through the connection as you work his shaft and its beautiful torture for both of you. He groans and writhes beneath your gentle assault and you revel in it, the connection feeding you his appreciation and pleasure as you lazily slide him in and out of your mouth. It doesn’t take long before your desire flares up, uncontrollably hot and hungry, your need to be filled by Dean overwhelming. He knows what you’re thinking, and he stops you before you can move up to straddle him, because he has different plans. Dean sits up and pulls you in for a salaciously tender kiss and you realize what he wants, the thread feeding his ideas to you while his mouth captures yours. He wants control, and you honestly don’t mind giving it to him. You trade places quickly, admiring the view of Dean as he hovers over you. He leans in and dips his tongue between your lips once more, soliciting a moan of desire as his body presses gently against yours.

Dean doesn’t tease like you did because he wants it even more than you do; but he controls himself, using measured gentleness when he sheaths deep into your quivering sex. You sigh with pleasure and your nails scrape along his back as he enters, your mind lost in bliss as he fills you up completely. “Nnngh, my god.” Dean rests his head against your shoulder as he tries to handle the feel of your heat, and the sensations flowing through the wide-open thread as they bombard him simultaneously. It’s overwhelming for both of you, and all that can be done is to lie still, Dean’s weight a comfort while you both ride the euphoria of being connected both physically and mentally. It’s different from other times; it’s so much closer, more intimate and it feels like you are melding into a singularity of desire and admiration. This point in time will forever be seared into your memory, because there is only one word that can sum up the spirit of this moment. You don’t dare utter it out loud, but you sense the shared emotion as Dean finally begins to move. It’s such a slow rhythm, but it’s torturous ecstasy as each passionate drive of Dean’s hips quakes your body and shatters your mind with its decadent reverence.

You lose yourself in the resplendent sensations of his chest pressing against yours, his arms tensing and flexing as he dips in to slide his tongue past your eager lips, the feel of him throbbing hot and magnificent between your legs; and Dean is lost right along with you, his body driven by forces unseen as you both spiral into realms of pleasure never before known. After spending forever floating in a cloud of elated delirium, Dean’s body finally reaches its limits. You feel him thrust in sharp and rigorous and he buries his face in your hair, groaning your name in exultation with his powerful release deep inside your core. He doesn’t move; his weight and heat still pressing you wonderfully into the bed, and you gently glide your fingers up and down his back. He nuzzles against your ear while you both indulge in the mutual gratification. “Beautiful.” It’s barely a whisper from his delicious lips as he tenderly nibbles your lobe and you shiver with unnamable emotions. His arms begin to shake from the strain of holding himself up so he slides off, but he doesn’t move far. You immediately snuggle against his side, your leg draping along the length of his, your arm resting on this chest, and your fingers making little circles across his skin as you finally confess out loud that you will miss him so much. His arm is tucked up under you and his hand idly plays with your hair while he stares at the ceiling in silence, and you don’t mind that he says nothing.

You weren’t paying attention to time before, and you certainly don’t now, as you and Dean spend the next slice of forever making love in this random motel room on the side of the highway. You lose count of how many times and it doesn’t matter because even when you’re at rest in each others arms the haze of sensations are still palpable and compelling and the connection is an open highway of affection and it blends into one endless event of exquisite euphoria. Eventually exhaustion overtakes you both, and its heaven, absolute blissful heaven, falling asleep in the arms of Dean Winchester.

<<< >>>

It’s been a month. One whole calendar month since you woke up to an empty motel room with nothing but a note that said _~I will miss you~_ and a wad of cash for breakfast and bus fair. Life has gone back to normal but that doesn’t mean it feels normal at all. You go about things as usual, like a warn path you’ve walked a thousand times, but your mind is always elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of the Winchesters. You have tried everything you can to forget them. You haven’t texted them and thank god they’ve been equally silent. You haven’t called them either, and you sure as hell have made sure to steer clear of dark alleys since then. Regardless of your attempts, your mind always finds it way back to Sam and Dean and you see-saw between reveling in the memories of those twelve days, to cussing and trying to stuff those same memories into a box and burying it in cement so they will stop consuming you. Twelve days. A small amount of time compared to the rest of your life, but they were the most insane and most intense days of your life. Couple that with the ever present connection you have with the four men involved in those days, and it’s no wonder you can’t let it go.

Every now and then you tempt yourself with the idea of opening up one of those threads and seeing if you can feel them, any of them, but you don’t. Sam, and especially Dean are the most tempting, but Castiel and that devil Crowley play through your mind more often than you care to admit right along with them. You often wrestle with the “what ifs”. What if they had asked you to stay? What if you had asked to stay? What if they text or call? What if they never do? What if you can’t get over them?

Right now it’s a quiet evening, you’re alone with your thoughts and it’s a particularly challenging time because the “what ifs” and the memories of the brothers are crowding out all other thoughts as you try and get things done around the house. You’re grumpy because of it, which is why you cuss under your breath when there is a knock at the door. It’s tempting to pretend you aren’t home, but something causes you to dismiss that thought, like a little subconscious nudge telling you that you better answer the door. You comply without resistance; not checking before you swing the door wide open, and then all you can do is stand there frozen in shock.

“Hi.”

“Hey girl.”

No warning, no preamble, unexpected and completely mind-blowing. The doorknob remains gripped in your fist while you stare stupidly at the two men standing in your doorway. One tall as a mountain with long hair brushing the collar of his plaid shirt and hands shoved deep in his pockets; the other is not quite as enormous, with short cropped hair, the face of a Greek god, and his beautiful form is held up by those familiar bowed legs. Two sets of green eyes are locked on you, and both men are wearing shy smiles as you continue to gawk. A million thoughts suddenly fly through your head as to why Sam and Dean Winchester are standing on your doorstep unannounced. You take a deep breath and blink, realizing the only way to find out is to say hello and ask what they want…. and that’s exactly what you do.

 

<<< >>>

THE END

 

 

  
**Author’s Note (updated):**  
_Thank you for reading. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. For me, the best part is that the end really isn’t the end. I wanted to leave it open for you to use your imagination so you can choose the path this story takes from this point. I also wanted to leave it open for the sequels which will follow the story of Castiel and Crowley. Thanks again and if you enjoyed the ride please leave a comment._

_PART ONE OF THE SEQUEL TWISTED PATHS IS OFFICIALLY STARTED AND POSTED!_


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